Sun Mote Copse Dance of the sugar plum fairy.

Before the epithet had fully left her mouth, Penn launched at her. It was enough of a snap movement that it caught her partly off guard, though not so swift that she took the brunt of it. Towhee whirled as he came, feeling the brush of his teeth on her snout as she swiftly sidestepped. One of his canines snagged the soft, leathery flesh of her nostril, quite possibly tearing it, but that didn't faze her, even when she smelled the coppery odor of her own blood and felt it drop on her upper lip.

Grinning impishly, Towhee made no move to counterattack. "That's more like it," she said with a touch of sarcasm, hoping to provoke a second round. "But I sincerely doubt that was your best move. Now show me!" she veritably bellowed, bracing herself.