Shadewood Drunk Nights are more fun than Sober Ones

to say she was not frightened as cry rose and darkly approached was a lie, for kukutux was aware she had misspoken, and to a man, no less. but the baleful glint of his eye, the selfishness of his words — these things angered the girl more deeply. she was young by the laws of nature, and those of this land, a mere child in the eyes of many, and now it seemed cry himself thought to intimidate her.

"if you seek to force me, i will leave you," kukutux whispered in a rasp, her eyes trained upon his own hard gaze. he would not keep her here, to wither away while he went on in his life with gwen. she did not doubt his care, only his ability to show it. she would be his wife, or she would not belong at all.

"agal," the duck spat, her toes curling into the cold loam. her teeth flashed once with the warning of woman's knives, but she sheathed them. and if he moved against her then, she would know he was no man, but a cruel bully. turning the narrow line of her spine then, kukutux sought the darkness of her den, wherein she would crouch until long after cry had gone. 

then, and only then, would her mind work toward the creation of plans that might free her from his grasp upon her that promised to be ironbound.