Blackfeather Woods send help

satisfaction burned as her grip finally landed and the woman turned to face her, albeit with dismay writ across her features rather than the anger she was accustomed to. it did not matter, not now. the woman's half-hearted warning snap was received with a snap of her own. this one, however, lacked any sort of warning and instead drove straight for her face, seeking to grab onto her muzzle or whatever the girl could get a firm grip on. intuition, that prickling scent of being watched, arched along her spine, but was ignored, for now. she was otherwise occupied, and the feeling of being watched was all too familiar within the dark wood.