Dragoncrest Cliffs o, tempora! o, mores!

the crippled girl. she meets the other's gaze as she chews, muzzle further stained ruddy with the creature's blood. bones snapping, crumbling beneath her teeth. all but the tail, and she lets the bushy thing fall at the last, running her scarred tongue along her jowls.

then begins to stride forward, still staring at her pale packmate.

you? she asks in question, lifting her chin. it's a stunted greeting, but a greeting nonetheless; she hadn't gotten her name at their last brief encounter. new, though not as recently come as Avicus. but she doesn't know the other's history here.

does it matter, though? in her eyes, they stand on equal ground—no, uneven, with the crimson yearling lording over the other. she may be half-mute, but at least she has all of her legs.