Broken Antler Fen last smoke before the snowstorm

The iron wretch gave Tusk a wicked grin, feeling the hot sting of fresh welts - that would later be bruises - and an irascible desire for more; always a masochist's fatal flaw. She was too fixated on him, so consumed by her self-made pyre of rollicking vengeance, that she did not know the grim reaper's dog was upon her. At least, she didn't know until she caught Tusk's reflexive glance over her shoulder right before attempting to distract her further, and a feeling of dread made her stiffen and turn. He was employing a tactic that had been used by and on Quill more times than she could ever count in her short life, but even this warning came several moments too late, so she could only meet her fate with a bedeviled cry of anger and surprise.

"You dickless swines!" she screeched, crushed by Thorn and Tusk alike as they combined their efforts to overwhelm the she-devil and force her into relenting the win to the tandem Apollyons of Schugkill. Where was the savage imp Nails to gang up on when you needed him? Quill managed to wrench and pluck herself away from their vine-armed reaches, and then stood several wolflengths away looked thoroughly ruffled and illtreated. Politely mauled, if you will. She rippled at them threateningly, and then turned her nose up snidely, daring either to try that to her face.