Hushed Willows Is your blood authentic?

The wolf's teeth tore a searing path through her nape; thrown loose, Anathema retreated several steps. The erratic clicking resumed, punctuated by feral humorless laughter. Sivaak kill.

Kill? She panted, mouth dripping blood. You can do better than that. Taunting even as she retreated a bit beneath the draping trees, still lingering near enough for the stranger to know her as a continued threat. Her nails dug into the earth, paws stained with the same noxious concoction which smeared the buck.

Seaglass eyes gleamed from the shadows of the willows. She waited.