Dragoncrest Cliffs skipping like a stone

in most wolves, there exists a built in system to avoid the wholesale slaughter of conspecifics.

in sobeille, such protocol had always been absent.

call it a critical failure, if you will. call it a malformed egg. call it something else - but always, call it what it is.

as he wrenched away sobeille let him -- if only to measure the full worth of his retaliation, and prepare for second blows. instead, he matched her gaze and drew a tongue across his lips; ceasefire? appeasement? sobeille does not care.

he is encroaching and the price of his stupidity is his pelt, laid alongside boneflower.

again, she drives towards him -- face contorted in a silent snarl that ends in snapping teeth.