Hoshor Plains And besides in the mean-meantime I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart

Pbbfft....That could not have gone worse. I thought you were supposed to be good at this? She spits a bit of blood from her mouth—deer's blood, not her own. There is both frustration and the cadence of a light-hearted jab lingering on her tongue.

Letting out a groan of misery, she rolled onto her back in defeat, writhing around on the ground in a tantrum of sorts, before pausing to stare at him through an upside-down gaze, in all his bloodied glory.

She got you good. She remarks, expression lifting slightly, as if simply seeing him get injured made up for the lack of a kill. Well, she'd gotten to mangle a portion of its leg at least, so there was some gratification in that.

Yet surprisingly, instead of help, she simply ogles him, scrutinizing the wounds he'd received. The opportunity to indulge in her sort of passion was right there, but she did not take it, not yet at least. She wanted him to ask for help. Wanted to see if he would do it at all, or stubbornly cling to the lacerations he'd just earned trying to kill something for her satisfaction. Sure, he had mentioned that he wanted to be left to rot, but would he be content to be felled by injuries gained in the name of her wretched self? ....Or perhaps, more likely, he would try to insinuate something else entirely to deflect from his injuries? Her blood ran hot after the chase and the tussle, as they sit in the silence of the aftermath. Though mainly it ran hot for her own disgusting perversions; the invigorating feeling of her teeth raking flesh, the scent of iron wafting off of Dreven.

...How's your throat? ..It doesn't look great. She raises a brow, laying the trail of an obvious request, before rubbing a paw over the shallow cut on her head, smearing a light splatter of crimson across her forelimb and the fur around her eye.

She was still disappointed. She had wanted something to eat just as much as she had wanted something to kill.