Blacktail Deer Plateau & she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy’s eyes

The Dread’s coaxes of: What of kin? Of Vonnaruil? fell on ears deafened by the wardrumming of her heart within a thin, pale breast. Rubied crown knocked down down down, rouge lips parting in, “Órenya quetë nin munta, an ia entuluva sa aqinldë,” were the heiress’ resonant, euphonic words, and she untethered herself from her post in favor of pantomiming his approach — a steady, lurking arc reminiscent of the moon’s own voyages, and with tail crescenting as such above fragile, roughhewn hips.

“Perhaps we will see,” Aurëwen only mused, stilling her stept, “once I cut it from yours.”

In the next pulse-beat, she was streaking for her deciever with a ferocity she’d only spared the basilisk of. Blood howling, maw shrieking, fearsome, as she rose and then fell before the Dread — he of many and more before her who’d perished beneath.

If successful, she’d embed her fangs deep within the tendons of his wrist, and wrench away and down and towards her  ( so that his breast may meet the crude peak of her shoulder. )