Herbalists' Cache but my aching soul

they were a tangle of limbs and bared teeth, bodies colliding with the earth in a flurry of snow. gjalla felt the bite of the cold against her back, the weight of him pressing down, but she refused—refused—to be subdued. 

a sharp, guttural growl tore from her throat as she bucked against him, twisting with all the strength in her lean frame. she would not be pinned, would not be claimed so easily.

think, gjalla. her legs coiling beneath her, weight into his ribs, twisting fiercely to throw him off-balance. instead she feels teeth clench tighter around her nape, hard enough to force a yelp from her throat that sounded like more than just play.