Silvertip Mountain loss of breath

garbled speech, a flash of the shadow of a mangled tongue within an unfamiliar maw. but asperas recognized the request... and it did not please her. slowly, almost lazily, vantablack lips peeled away from gleaming ivory teeth, followed by the telltale ripple of razored hackles. this time the rumble bubbling from her throat was no crooned greeting, nor even a warning. asperas stepped forward on stiff limbs, drawn up to full height, unimposing in the fine-boned lankiness of her still-growing form yet oozing hostility beyond her age. mine, the snarling voidsent conveyed with every hissing breath, every twitch of wrinkled muzzle, every shudder of thorny ruff.
no, asperas commanded, punctuated by another threatening step forward. not him. you will not have him.

the bruin-witch of ursus belonged only to his night-pearl.