Greatwater Lake thirty-fifth

Flooding in were wolves on both sides. The young one, Selena's destroyer; nowhere to be seen. But the children of Khaba run for the giantess, their bloodmother, the one who sought them as well as the soil from which they were born. But that was not of importance to Zaahira. Whatever Zharille willed of the lakeside was neither here nor there.
All Zaahira thinks of is her friend, her midnight tryst, her maiden; the one with the harp-like voice and kind chocolate eyes. The one who deserved to be here, the one who was unjustly punished with bloodshed at Khaba's command. A warm body that was now cold, the smell of her blood that lives in the serpent's memory. It would be traumatic for anyone. 
The rage is something that has no description. 
And so when Senmut calls for Khaba's peaceful surrender, Zaahira's own challenge is placed forth. Hackles raise, lips curl into a snarl, tail flagged high above a svelte body. You have none left, Khaba, she seethes through clenched teeth. you let her die.
She steps forward. Surrender. Or you go to Hell.