Northstar Vale and we weren't even married (dmn?)

Fighting has been all I have ever known!
is what she wanted to sputter with the indignant and self-righteous, flustered fury of an hieress who has never had more than a smattering of skirmishes within her entire life thus far. But lips remained pinched, jut jaw wound shut; pink nostrils aflare and features searing bloodbright beneath fine fur. Everywhere within her felt alight, abashed, affronted; ears tucked themselves away into snowdrift mane, and though listen she did, it took absolutely everything to not let her face crinkle into something petulant and bellyaching, to not stomp all whelpish as Kalika turned her back; plume kinking, fussed and lioncubbed;
wants to gripe of What weight? Look at me! and how she has never heard of blindspots even though the rest of what the siren sings is sung true. Nevermind—!

This time, when she rushes Fëafelmë, it is with the consideration of what has been suggested: as before, she rocks her center into her hinds, but as she lurches upon the naiad it is to let her fangs shear  (pinking, irontongue)  through ruffhide and into flesh. Arms again clutching for purchase, wrenching herself into the anchor that's been made of her hindpaws whose claws she blunts into thaw underfoot;
needly teeth fishlining into siren, snaring, snarling and hoping to upset her well this time.