Phoenix Maplewood First Flight of the White Raven

she stood firm at the spot where they would meet, like a bull ready to impale a matador on its horns. the ugly side of her muzzle was less hideous than the smile on the other.

they were about to collide, turning into a flury of teeth and muscle the mastiff - despite living trough so many cautionary tales - so badly wanted.

her jaws parted and she lunged to make the first strike.

like a bull charging into a red muleta.

the wolfess dodged with such speed and efficiency that diesel not only bit own tongue instead of enemy throat, she toppled forward and ended up rolling down the slight slope, each skyward turn accompanied by profane curses despite her mouth filling with grass and dirt.

and the base her wrinkled mass finally found traction and stopped, the brute on her side before staggering to stand-

nevermind. world was spinning. better sit down.

sitting on her ass with legs stretched forward, upper body still swaying as if gravity was arguing over it, diesel couldn't see a trace of the slippery not-scarface.

but she was certain the cunt was laughing.

diesel barked at the treeline, and intended to do so until her woofing descended into a coughing fit.

and the nuisance is out~