Swiftcurrent Creek an occupation popular with demons and ducks

He had one expectation borne of his limited experience in life. He expected her to think twice about pursuing him and attempting to reclaim the stone. He expected her to behave more like his sister and to know of his savage fangs and be wary of them. But she was not. He would have to teach her that he was the sharptooth to her threehorn.

It was as if the stone in his mouth was a fount of courage from which to draw because all his prior flightiness was gone, replaced by his usual self who was unafraid to fight. To the last second he doubted her resolve as she charged, and in holding his ground awaiting her cease and desist, he assured their collision. She barrelled into him with surprising momentum and Rhakios staggered back, nearly losing his balance while still grasping firmly the prize. Though he coiled tense like a snake, he was reluctant to strike her — reluctant to make his jaws a weapon instead of a cage.

He bristled and snarled, a coarse and grating sound from deep in his narrow chest as he regained his footing and leaped aside, putting distance between them once more. He tried again to cow her so that he might never need loose his hold on the stone. He pinned his ears forward and glared intensely, deep furrows running the length of his snout as it buckled terribly, lifting his black lips off the gleaming sides of his teeth. There was no child's play here. He was a young but awful sight: possessive and vicious.