Blackfeather Woods [m] Gonna raise some sand in the dead o' night

Far, far away would her mind wander. To somewhere safe. Somewhere where she could fall into a pit of bodies littered across the floor, where she could form bond with them. Where she could now connect as a mortal walking the earth, dripping of a scent that screamed of death, because Death had not only put a mark on her throat, but should he have bit harder, and should he have shaken, should he have truly tried, he would allow a true dead god to meet her. Upon his initial jump, she'd truthfully cried and yelped far before his teeth had actually landed.

Burn the world with water.

Drown the world in smoke.

The air she'd gained back released as gunpowder once he released her skin. Breathe. A grisly sight. A once still, trusting body now trembling and burning hot with blood seeping into her fur, down her skin, flesh punctured and torn apart. Would it kill her? No, but the pain inflicted there perhaps might make her wish it throughout the day. 

Only for her to not fall by the end of it, but instead to turn to him, joyous and anew smile on her maw, her head rubbing against the front of his chest, under his head, her side moving all the way through until his fur had pet all of it Coming to a sit at his front, her head lifted to lean into the crook of his neck, close to his shoulder, where it was there she was deciding between collapsing in agony or not at the near mauling.

"Yeah!" had been her next excited statement, far more enthused than the last. Well, he had her attention. "Bring ya a woman! Is that it?" She found herself immediately laughing, taunting the idea and having fun with the notion of fetching him a prospect, long knowing he likely did not mean so. She didn't care. She cared about laughing at it, at him in the eyes, while she immediately scoured through her mission.