Wapun Meadow i. a vagrant you shall become

sorry for the wait! (Been sick and struggling with muse ugh)

A violent balk, an uncertain weaving of the pale fae's paws drew her up short, halting before her offense can land. She'd had only benevolent intentions, of course, to take Aurë's creamy shoulder between open jaws though her fangs would have only grasped gently; still, guilt curls through her and she withdraws a pace, eyeing the woman with concern. 

"My apologies," she offered immediately, dipping her star-spattered crown contritely, "it was not my intention to startle you."

"I'll not harm you," she promised earnestly, offering a small grin of encouragement, "this is purely a spar between amicable strangers, for the sake of knowledge."

"When you're ready," the exile would call softly, falling back into a defensive stance as a lavender orb tracked the scarred swan, waiting for her attack.