Lion Head Mesa Power, Is Power.

a pox on the thick lass who had showed up at the borders.
the only saint maggie had ever known was the lord. when the icy call had risen, demanding phay-row, she had of course tagged after against jawahir's instruction.
keeping herself well tucked, maggie watched as words turned to blows, and her sharp ears rose. when the tang of the lord's blood hit the air, the beauty sped down beside him, and lashed her tail. "yer a fuckin' beastie, aintcha? only that sort would attack a noble in 'is own 'ome!"
she herself, appearing more fearless than she felt; a good lash from that jawline and maggie might well be a matchstick. still she bared her teeth and paraded proudly beside phay-row.