Duskfire Glacier [m] Tshärr

Synchronously they fly, trading strikes, one diverting kicks and hooves away from the other’s onslaught. It’s a well-timed duet buried within them both and Ayovi feels her marrow sing, heat trilling within her veins. Instinct comes and takes her. Blood bolsters the huntress’ entrachets, no longer is she offended by the northerner’s reek, but excited by it. If they hunted their way through days and nights, they’d set the ice on fire.
As Skorpa falls back in recovery she hammers up towards the beast’s opposite, tugging a forearm to slow his gallop, lending enough delay for the bear-man to aim the death-blow.
Her braying is high; loud and bold. A call for Skorpa as much as for herself.