Silvertip Mountain thestral

escape, if it could be called that, was woefully cut short. astara checked herself as merrick lunged and sank teeth into dragomir, a flash of excitement flush in her features as the boy turned round, awakened into something feral.

her tail arced high above her hips, and a current of electric excitement rifled like river water under her hackles. she skulked after the yearling and his victim with her head bobbing; the awful guard-dog to merrick’s hellish whims.