Blackfeather Woods we are animal hungry down to our delicate bones

a thrill hit the tiny demon as her teeth sunk mercilessly into sensitive skin. wintersbane was a sweet, patient tutor to allow such crimes against his feet; astara was lucky he did not strike her for her impudence. not that the little ghoul had much a grasp on what was right and what was wrong -- she was entirely unaware he was catering to her own play, and remotely uninterested in anything except for victory.

she was too busy goading over her own small triumph to notice the teeth until it was too late -- or, she thought for certain it was too late as large, conical fangs swung towards her with dooming impetuous. yet somehow, by some miraculous feat of what astara was certain was her own clever athleticism, all wintersbane got was fur: the brat inflated and pranced in a circle around him, her tail waving in challenge for him to try that again --- if he dared.