Bearclaw Valley king pest

maelstrom. adrenaline and rage is a heady combination of scents in the air; she feels herself stirred by it, watching the battle with bated breath. it is like her wrestling bouts with Aventus, but fiercer, more real. it is this realization that stops her from leaping into the fray for her own pound of flesh—this is not her fight.

should she enter, she will be crushed by the mountainous man;

then Astara is looming over her, a cloud across the sun, blocking him from view. Avicus lets loose an inquisitive whine, and tries to peer from between her mother's legs, sneaking another glance at the puppy in the shadow of the den. she has no notion of the precarious position she has put herself in, of the social ramifications of her wandering.

but there's a beetle, a pace or two away.

it moves.

she pounces upon it, feeling a liquid crunch beneath her paws. she lifts them,

it moves no more.

dead, she remarks. oblivious.