Lion Head Mesa a-weema-weh

she scrambled onto her paws as suddenly the male slipped away, and set his sights on her. verdant green gaze met the whites of his for a moment, and then she was scrabbling backward, hackles flared and lips curled over her needlesharp teeth. "stop!" slipped from her maw, low and underlined with fear. Virtute, then, bounding toward the stranger. 

whatever were to occur, the girl would remain light on her ways, always ensuring at least a few tail lengths space existed between herself and the stranger, hoping for a swift and violent end to this.