Wild Berry Meadow you swallow me, i'm a pill on your tongue

he grazes her cheek with his yellowed fangs and her hackles raise in fear-delight, and a thought crosses her mind that this is what prey feels like before it is felled.  it is exhilirating in a way the feral woman cannot describe; fear-inducing and adrenaline-coursing, and in a world that has been so desolate and cold she takes it in stride.

she plays right into his hand, because remember, this is a game,, and she once more attempts to regain her footing, limbs thrashing wildly as her head turns back to bare her own fangs at him and scrape or latch onto whatever she can because now the wild, feral heart in her has awakened and pound-for-pound they are the same. now that is atop of her it is something she is intimately aware of.  

her tail cups around her nether regions in a coy, protective gesture, ears smoothing back against her head, fur still standing on end.