Blackfeather Woods Angel of small death

Synder awaited an answer, flicking an ear as he chuffed an acknowledgement. She watched every shift of his movements, the flick of his tail gesturing her on as his eyes burned with intensity; assessment.

She was coming to like him a bit, if something like that could even be applicable. He didn't speak over her. Still, she was trying to make sure this didn't end with his teeth to her throat. He certainly could've killed her. Would he have gained anything from it? Likely not, but men often acted without reason. She knew how to dance around it, ironic as that was.

It moves. She shrugs. It doesn't do much work anymore, though. Only little bits at a time. She would turn her eyes away from him to peer backwards, holding the limb in a tender gaze before returning to him. Gift from an ex-husband of mine. she limped a few steps closer again, speaking with a low hiss, a touch of amuse to challenge it. Nasty man