Emberflame Ridge in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me

Eleuthera very much resembled a diglett, head popping up just over the undergrowth as she passively watched the man in his impressive, instantaneous reaction. He startled from his languid position upon a tree stump, seizing upwards and falling over the side in a plush mattress of fern leaves.

Eleuthera blinked, totally unaware that the energy which burst forth from her throat and tongue could have such destructive potential and wholly unsure if she should continue this interaction. Perhaps this was the best time to simply cut and run.

A moment or two of silence passed before Eleuthera regained the use of her body, which she used to surrender her position and fluttered to his side. She immediately felt silly for having mistaken him for a lion and gotten wrapped up in the adrenaline of it — and then for having complained about it so loudly, like a petulant child! Beneath her velveteen fur, her cheeks burned a bright red.

“Oh, geez!” she acknowledged of him, maintaining a small amount of distance in the off chance he wasn’t happy being roused so disturbeingly from his rest. “I didn’t — I’m sorry!” she stumbled, entirely not sure what to say. The woman cast her gaze to the side and waited to gauge his response.