Blackfeather Woods Angel of small death

He came closer and she let him, eyes idly following him as he circled. His face contorted, a look of disdain painted vividly across his features. 

Good. It satisfied something in her to see her own hate etched onto the face of another, confirming something within her. Pale citrine glimmered with desire as he dismissed her injury, disregarded it entirely, she wished she could've done such a thing.

Invasive as it was, his focused stare, his forward touch; she found herself following along and watching him as he did, his shadow swallowing her. I manage. She murmurs, a foreleg lifting to gently skim the earth with her nails, her balance maintained, she was well practiced by now. Her tongue drifted across her fangs, a challenge in the unspoken action. They still worked fine. 

He shifted around the the front of her, the light hitting her once again, his judgement seemingly complete. 

Roan. Her words cut through the air, her voice low and smooth as she tasted his name on her tongue. She let the silence linger only a moment, looking him dead on. Do you want something from me?