Lion Head Mesa Trod on my abbot, Father Habit

her chin draws close to her chest, questioning. Ursus, sure. he smells of her father. he speaks funny, almost like one of Ashlar's songs. it's explained when he elaborates—I'm not much of a fighting man, you see.

well, they don't need that.

Avicus gives a jerky nod, then turns to pad back into the territory. after a few paces, however, she wheels and goes for his jawline, snapping just shy of his flesh; not to hurt him, she only wants to test his mettle.

if this man is to fight with them, he shall not balk. 

she sinks into a crouch after the feigned onslaught, waiting for him to bowl her over, eyes flashing.