Bearclaw Valley a tale of the ragged mountains

damn, was her little daughter mad.

astara hid the grin that threatened to break her countenance as avicus was sent sprawling. she righted herself almost immediately (good), and for a moment seemed she was intelligently formulating a response. this assumption was proved erroneous as avicus came at astara then like a spitfire, hellish and overrun by wrath.

wrath quickened the blood and reddened the mind; it was a sharp and furious reflex and could often be a boon in thick waters, cutting through reality like a crimson knife.

yet, wrath had a double edge, just like a fang or tooth or knife -- and often cut the hands that wielded it.

avicus would learn, as astara had learned, that wrath clouded judgment. that wrath was a tool, to be used respectfully to awaken the red vision, and no more.

she met her daughter's furious charge with the coiled ease of a cobra; collected. calm. assured. her daughter's teeth landed many hits before astara made her move, waiting for a fresh charge to dole out her counter.

as avicus approached again astara brought one forepaw up to slam on her daughter's shoulders -- to knock her off balance just enough that she could hopeully grab the girl's scruff.