Dragoncrest Cliffs the world's grave. not ours.

the bear, twisting in rage beneath their jaws,
the terror of the day ironsea had fallen;
shrieks rising unabated in the back of her mind;
rosalyn, slammed downward; njord, batted away, the scent of their blood mingling into a reek that choked erzulie and flared her rage higher and higher, her own jaws ripping into the shoulder, the arm, the scarlet staining her, until a grave misstep, a slip in the cold sand wet with red brought the opportunity for the bear to buffet her too away.
hips snapped against the hard ground; she groaned and felt nausea rise in her gorge, but blood, his blood, bearblood, smeared her mouth and erzulie shoved her aching figure forward once more to tear toward the vital organs of the barbaric creature.