Swiftcurrent Creek put your dreams away for now

The man laughs like a villain in some old movie; joyful when the damsel in distress is confronted by his intentions. 

This woman was not such a damsel in distress, but rather a fighter. And the man made it clear this was no movie. 

Now Dægmar got to play the best part: the knight who wards off the evil and saves the girl. If only this were fairytale. 

A whisper of gratitude to his ear from the cloudy girl as she slips beside him- and all he can taste is her goddamn scent, one that might haunt him for days to come. And then the dragon's words: I would leave if I were you. Mentally, Dægmar rolled his eyes. Of course you would, coward. No one taught you what it means to be a gentleman. But words did not solve battles, certainly wasted breath, time, and energy- and Dægmar was not interested in responding. Even to the displace of dominance, the leviathan was a brooding shadow- acid gaze hooded by dark brow, a tail that raised over his back in turn, a puffed chest.

A snap to his face then, but only meeting thin air- and the warrior can't help the smirk that ghosts on his muzzle before slipping away as if it had never existed in the first place. This man had a lot to bark and apparently, little to bite. The same could unfortunately be said for his companion, though- who was certainly snatching a lot of nothing with her fangs, for a lady who was threatening to tear out throats just moments before. 

It was a battle in the air between them. Dæg, show them how it's done. 

The raven shot forward in the moment after Dawn's sorry attempt at a strike, jaws stretched open, intent on getting a grab in on the beast's collarbone. It was there his fangs collided with fur and flesh, the soft dimple between bone and shoulder- and he sunk his fangs in without mercy as deeply as he felt he could, until he drew away like a dark cobra, quick to strike and inject his venom.