Redsand Canyon do you dare to look him right in the eyes?

foredated ~a week

the warlord lingers at the shore of a lake painted with all the vibrancy of a dying day. the water is cool, a balm against the sandpaper that lines her throat. she steps into the shallows as she sates her thirst, the water laping up and around her forepaws, a school of tiny fish scattering like a dozen slivers of light. restlessness tugs, and she desires only to throw herself into something physical. it is the frustration of knowing that her body is almost, but not quite, made whole once again. her back limb still does not possess the sturdiness it did, and her shoulder aches deep when she overworks it. but each day these things fade, and she knows she is close. 

her muzzle is pulled from the shallows, tongue moving over her lips to catch at the water droplets lodged there. rain threatens, as it had since early that morning, and everything is edged with grey and gloom. with a sharp exhale, she tilts back her crown and issues a summons for a partner; it's a spar she wants, she's decided, and it has been far too long since she'd fought and trained regularly.