Bearclaw Valley Give me everything

the pale interloper caught at the edges of asperas's vision like a thorn snagging in their fur; prickling, irritating, unwelcome. until recently the unchild's life had consisted solely of skulking dark phantoms, shadowbeings sculpted of the same piercing voidmurk that had borne the newest bearberries. easier for the demon child to accept the existence of other when it was so like herself, easier to see tribute to her own perfection in mirrored atramentous outlines. this — this was blasphemy.
such was the changeling's outrage that they scarcely held control of their own faculties, sweeping stiff-legged and rumbling toward the waxen miscreant with every intention of running them off. needling puppy teeth gnashed together several times, threatening, but asperas was not quite adept at such things yet. the clipping of tongue's edge became apparent only in the aftermath, when the unchild tasted blood. the blunder only deepened their rage, and their growl started to crescendo even as their mouth worked to dispel the metallic taint, lending a peculiar rhythm (click here...) to the sound.