Nimbus Summit nerds trying to dance

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heda was shaking.
she was stained in pheasant blood. some god of war had seen fit to bless her with four kills, but she had overextended her leg and taken a bruising blow to her right hip in the process.
it felt good to hurt.
it felt good to hurt.
heda was too numb to realize that this was the only time she felt lively, when she was employed in violence against herself.
caracal. her head turned that direction, and pupils still dilated, heda left her catches behind and clawed up from her low position to join the golden medic.
he looked vulpine under the setting sun. heda barked toward him, red-striped hackles lifted with adrenaline, tail lashing at the last moment to tell him it was a game, that she had not gone mad.