Firefly Glen made it out alive, but I think I lost it

Gjalla’s muscles tensed as Ameline set herself, eyes never leaving her. The playful grin, the readiness in the she-wolf’s stance, it all fed into the thrill of what was to come. There was a certain beauty in the way the woman balanced, preparing for the clash. For a moment, Gjalla allowed herself to appreciate that—though her expression remained cold, a flicker of respect passed through her gaze.

She settled into a stance of her own, like the stillness before a storm. Her body coiled with the same intensity, tail flicking once as if readying itself to strike. Her anticipation was palpable.

"Go." With barely a moment’s warning, she moved—swift, precise, a blur of dark fur aimed to close the distance between them. There was no hesitation, only the pulse of adrenaline, and the sharp, instinctive drive to dominate. Her movements were an extension of her will, fluid and controlled, no wasted energy.

The spar, while not lethal, would still be a contest of strength, willpower, and skill. And Gjalla, even with hunger gnawing at her, would be relentless in proving her worth.

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we can do dice rolls?