Luneshale Pass acechar

fiamma could empathize with the puma. she felt much the same as of late—stalking, circling, hungry. her courtship of soto had proven unsuccessful, her other flirtations had led nowhere, and her womb lay empty this spring season. 

she needed something to distinguish her further, even more than the status she'd been granted as captain and guardian of the green. perhaps, she thought, as soto sent out a call for aid, this could be her opportunity.

when she came onto the scene, near the cat's hindquarters, the creature whirled and pounced.

claws raked her flesh, scoring deep into her forelegs and shoulders. the powerful jaws just missed her neck, and snapped inches from her ear; she felt and smelled the hot, putrid breath that came from the beast. fiamma writhed and twisted, trying to free herself.

her blood hit the desert in gentle, silent droplets—drip, drip—

she found leverage in seizing one front paw between her jaws, clamping down hard enough for the cat to yowl and skitter backwards, shaking the affected limb, sending a crimson spatter across her face;

the woman's eyes burned cold flame, set intently on driving this menace from their home.