Bearclaw Valley Uncertain flame

having never been a wolf of generous patience, the last straw for astara came in clay's snarl and show of teeth before the court. merrick may have mastered his composure, but not astara.

clay did not threaten her bear -- no, surely he was not that disrespectful --

but he was.

fat as she was, astara moved as if black liquid spilled over a plain. no show of teeth, no snarl to herald her advancement.

only streaking nightshade.

in several steps she would be upon clay, a silent incubus with fangs unsheathed to grab hold of anything. she did not care for messages or cocky little princelings -- she would show him what the world was truly all about. she would show him that outside of his fairy-tale life of charm there was a whole sector of black imps and monsters, every which one of them howling for their pound of flesh.