Bearclaw Valley lionizing

he comes, the wretched shadow, posture held high as befit his rank. well, he wouldn't be standing so proud for long. Avicus returns his snarl, puffing out her chest and marching toward him with all the unbridled fury of a wildfire. their eyes lock, indigo into silver, a magnetic pull into each other. wonderfully compelling, violent.

bruin-jaw, she greets, but it lacks the subdued, obedient intonation from their previous meeting. it is two mocking syllables, slipping from her curled lips. it is a declaration of what she means to take—

yes, she means to take it. she does not want Aventus dead; she just wants him underneath her, where he belongs.

without another word, she lifts her head and aims, snakelike, for his muzzle, hoping to seize it between slavering jaws. should he move from his position—and he surely will—her mouth will connect painfully with his skull.

for now, though, the fight is all potential, and she will accept nothing less than total victory—even at the cost of her own life.