Bearclaw Valley they elevate

this spar was but a careful dance, an art-form of take and be taken. astara's teeth were half-sheathed, firm enough to sting, but never enough to draw blood.

one did not learn from a mistake, unless it cost them something dearly.

toad stood his ground as astara angled a shoulder for his own in a quiet whumph; his teeth snaked their way towards her pelt after a brief stumble, giving astara enough time to place a hairsbreadth's distance betwene them. his fangs raked down her shoulder as she drew away.

enough with the simple ploys and little flirtatious advances -- now that each had felt each other out, astara went for a different tactic.

she dove for a front leg, appearing to have every intention of seizing it. yet if -- or when -- toad tried to counter with his teeth, he would find astara's move was a feint, and teeth would close coldly around throat.