Moonspear written in the sand

The longer she gnawed on it, the more fuzzier things became—but in a pleasant, rose gold, peach fuzz kind of way. Her eyes turned toward Terance as he spoke—his voice was melodious and warm, like syrup but without the sticky aspect of it. She hummed as she removed her fangs from the skull, placing a possessive paw over it that slid haphazardly off. It remained between her forelegs, but she did not seem to notice. 

Feelin' good, she declared—and also, heavy. She rolled on her 'good' side, an ear twitching. Feelin' great. How you feelin'? She asked. The earth here felt positively soft, and Hydra lifted her head only to place it back to the earth again. Wow. Wow, Terance—would you feel this grass? There is no better grass in the world than Moonspear has. Feel it, she urged, rubbing her snout against it.