Dragoncrest Cliffs blueish-purple

true to sapphique fashion, there was fire in this one. sobeille was grateful to have pre-emptively moved from his teeth when he struck like an asp at empty air.

hah, sucker.

she moved off in the fluid stride of a dunewalker, used to the drag of sand. she could hear the skitter-patter of feet behind her, and could envision -- though her eyes were not upon him presently -- the cut of cold determination twisting jean-heron's striking face.

he promised to catch her! sobeille cackled as he honed in like a missile, veering towards the tide-line. it would be cruel to go into the water to avoid him -- and she imagined his fun-sucking father would have something to say about it -- but what was the harm in a little teasing?

her strides grew longer as she drove into the water, wondering just how far from the shore she would need to go to lose sapphique's piebald barnacle.