Redhawk Caldera [BOO] It's all a matter of personal responsibility.

The red leaves sat limply a moment, and then writhed up, pulled by a force that gave them the look of a rearing snake; those gold glints set where the fangs might hang, then pulling back to eye sockets, sunken.

The sound of something large crushing through the pile came when a segment lashed out and formed a limb, and another, and the furious nature of the tossed leaves crowded close to Niamh.

There is a sucking gasp, rasping, as the wind pulls from behind Niamh. It sounds like wind scraping against trees. Blood...?

One fleck of gold shimmers close to her face, the other seems to reach to her other side, uncertain if it wants to observe or strike.