Broken Antler Fen last smoke before the snowstorm

she was a wasp, and her attacks stung appropriately against his flesh. it was a familiar prick, and one that fueled him to tumble his way out of her grasp with kicking limbs and snapping fangs – he aimed for whatever he could find purchase with. though her tightly wound frame seemed to carry him from where he had stood, it was that same force that allowed him to break free and roll away into the nearby brush. with that, his timing had been impeccable. just as he had escaped the clasp of her vicious stings, the lightless yellow of his gaze caught the shadow move toward her with all the grace of a rampaging ox. satisfaction lit his features at the sight of thorn on the move, and he snapped his teeth at quill in an attempt to distract her from their brother.