Golden Glade forced into their true shape

There is a subdued electricity in the air, even as her caterwaul echoes through the trees. Natjuk acts accordingly, centering himself with a warning rumble, face twisting ferociously. He imagines meeting her halfway - stop her from getting close to his meal - but the way she throws herself, haphazard and untrained, roots him in place.

Natjuk kindly allows her teeth to comb the fur of his hip, her grasp nonexistent.

Perhaps the knowledge of keeping your distance around strangers did not stick as a child. Perhaps, then, it would be best to teach her now.

He moves, freeing himself of her teeth. He positions himself so that if she were to retaliate, she could only snap at his face or legs. But Natjuk does not offer leeway, seeking to take her muzzle between his jaws as quickly as possible. He has no intention of harming her beyond a guided but stern grip. This was, after all, a lesson.