Sunspire Mountains And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke

Storm-born; fire-wrought.

Her poise was robust, primed, and while initially he had failed to unbalance her, the shadow wraith’s incisors had met their mark – a streak of alabaster through ember-singed fur, to perforate, to seize. Striking as a viper might. His mind had played the scene unto his vision milliseconds before it happened; forecasting, yet no executioner would leave their back unwatched lest they fall casualty to the very target of their eye. She was relentless, unabating. The fire fae did not hesitate to lurch pearlescent teeth back toward him – his neck, where she would meet ashen pelt and flesh beneath. A mirrored arrow, incessant and afire.

The ground beneath them was unstable, that much was evident, and he backed up slightly to grant her space – fissured pads against unfastened rock, the silencer could hardly have his temporary combatant plummet from the ledge to her demise below. A body, strewn against serrated cornerstone.

Still, though, he pressed on, writhing from her grip as a shadow; present one second, absent the next. A phantom, as he slid from her only to dart to her side – claws poised in threat of some malignant embrace. A test - of strength and reflex alike.