Silvertip Mountain thestral

mercifully, the boy was released from merrick’s grasp — what followed was an almost sing-song query saccharine with counterfeit sweetness. astara did not believe it; the boy should not believe it — and it was very likely soon that gentle guide would break. 

the boy bolted. behind him the shadow stirred, moved into action and just as quickly halted as she saw the boy’s certain plight; the quartz hall here was enclosed, and his only egress between the two demons that assailed him. astara’s tail flicked leisurely, a bemused smile quirking the very corner of her lips. dragomir’s growling filled the cave, but it did not fill astara’s heart with trepidation. she had tasted the sweetness of the hunt, and hungered now with primal pack ambition that her species was often so woefully well known for.

she made no move further to block the exit; her gaze spoke on her behalf. it was challenging and full of blooded interest; the sharp gleam of a cunning hunter carefully watching her prey.