Emberflame Ridge Breath, should I take a deep?

Wot the bloody 'ell! exclaimed the trim black woman as she flung herself back down the rise, trailed closely by the cannonball-with-legs that was Ramsay. He followed for about ten or fifteen long paces before he ground to an abrupt halt, sending pebbles skittering down toward the now-swearing Lily. He threw back his head (read: dropped his haunches and rolled back his shoulders so he could approximate throwing back his head) and cackled loudly, his short tail swaying merrily.

Are you frightened, little starling? the dwarf called out, fixing keen indigo eyes on Lily as she presumably kept running. He wasn't going to hurt her, but she didn't need to know that. It was enough to strike fear in the hearts of others. Euron always got his thrills from treading as near to death as he could get, but Ramsay's excitement was always roused by that glassy light in the eyes of a wolf who was terrified. Maybe only for a split second from being startled, or maybe petrified with deep-seated horror. No matter what sparked it, he relished the fear of others. Hurting them was a simpleton's joy. There are monsters in this world, and you must fear them all!