Moonspear I only see what matters

She had surprised him. Good, she thought, pleased with herself. And now he would learn to look everywhere when he could not find what he sought. Better to learn this way than when he truly could have been in danger. Such lessons would be done to each of her children so that they could live and learn both. And it would be a good tactic for him to keep; some never did come to get this lesson in their lifetime. 

She had not come down with enough force to topple him—the goal had not been to hurt, after all, but to strike. Her eyes caught sight of his limbs set to snare, and she answered in kind with the whole of her weight to show him the error of his ways, coming down upon him in the fashion a raptor might as she drew her forelegs in a measure so as to not be caught by him and come into a tangle. It was a kamikaze sort of method without the fatality; it would knock the wind out of her as much as it might him, but at the very least she could be on her feet while he, ideally, stayed down for a beat or two. Her tail waved behind her in a happy little arc; this was her sort of bonding, and now her children were able to partake in it.