Swiftcurrent Creek an occupation popular with demons and ducks

just as suspected, he was in pursuit of her valor after all. unfortunately for Tiercel, Rhakios had a generous head start on the enterprise. striving towards mercenary gain, karma was masquerading behind nature and sowing penalties already, as properly shown by the branch that had, in every practical sense, materialized into existence before ms ink-stain-better-a-sheet-stain could reach her artifact.

with only a second to draw her sights on the motion blur of its incoming whip across her snout, she was immediately flapjack’d onto the ground. gravity, yet again, failed to show out for her. she was starting to think maybe it was actively working against her, as familiar as she was with the sensation of catching falls with that big potato forehead of hers.

she lost all impetus and conjointly, all dignity, but regardless of the throbbing of her head and the urge to bluster for her mother, Tiercel instead squirmed back to her feet with a dim scowl, knobby legs shuddering from the reckless gear-changes. wrath was an excellent power source. with a huff, she realized that the bandit had triumphed against her in recovering the coveted object. insert a lot of solidarity with gollum, she was the victim of a heist! her precious, wrongfully possessed by the retreating Eyjolfur— 

as he turned to taunt her, she boldly stared him down like a bull facing a matador, feeling the same indignation sift through her soul as when Wylla had tried to re-stake her claim on the rabbit’s ear several weeks ago. Tiercel held frame to his focus, her eyes unflinchingly trained on her target. in moments like this, she was seldom prone to fits of agreeability, and once the light caught the glistening “scales” of the stone, a switch flipped. ”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” she roared, rearing back and springing off her haunches to give chase. 

where he gainfully scored, she felt the enormity of her loss. perhaps from a peer's perspective, this was all an invitation to simply play—to participate in the common sport of childhood. however, failing the social aptitude test required to diagnose the intentions of anyone remotely close to her in age, his junior opponent saw it as outright war...

and as such, she treated the retrieval of her prize with the seriousness of a goddamn spartan.