☆☆ ??????? ????? ???? ????? ?????????? ?? ???? ☆☆
?? ????????? 《》 World torn asunder as the beast that crashed with abandon through the jungle took her from her footing, the world turning itself into a whirlwind of senses she couldn't sort out. Breath driven from lungs, bitter iron coating her tongue as bile worked itself from her throat, fiercely swallowed down as she struggled against the creature looming above her. The sense of danger did not pass her by nor did the mighty jaws belonging to the panther pinning her down. As she stared upon him, her breath rolling out in puffs and huffs, her jaw slack as she took desperate breaths, she found the world to finally stop spinning. There was a sense about him, a sense that reminded her of an infuriating fae, of the one she had sworn her soul to. Ears drawing back, she mourned the loss of Amalthia at her side, the muscles within her legs bunching as her heart hammered against the cage that kept it contained.
Mud staining her back, beautiful wings pressed to the muck and grit of the swampland, she took a deep breath to calm the racing of her heart, "Sneaky meater. Here i was hoping ye' were a dame come to confess.", came the fearless response as she stared into his eyes. She might be drunk but there's a little thing called liquid courage and she drained that cup empty like a thirsty sailor. She wasn't scared, she was frustrated he had come upon her and she was too liqoured to respond in even kind. "Ya must feel like a man, jumping a lass out for a walk, ye blasted bull.", she laughed as she stared up at the mighty maw of the one who could end her very life.
Blazes, she welcomed the very thought of death - she would not stay dead. That was her curse, the very thing she had sold her soul for - immortality in such a cruel manner. Resting a mere moment in the swamp's entangle, would she attempt to strike out her back legs against his chest, twisting her body as she made use of the force of her kick to dig her paws into the mud and roots, hauling with all of her strength to fling herself away from the panther, ignoring the hilt of her sword so far from her. Quickly, her mind worked, glancing to the trees above, knowing she had no chance of out-climbing him, he had longer legs and could over take her if she ran. The closest thing to her salvation was a goose chase into the swamp, where she may fall prey to the jaws of a worse predator than the one who had pinned her down. She couldn't bring the brute back to camp, she would never willingly endanger those she called her own.
Ears laid back, she could only take a breath and if successful in her escape from the panther, she would tear off down the trail, cream and brown fur caught in the muck and upon the belt of the sword Amalthia, the sword half-hidden in the brush if not for the pearl and golden sheath peering out. The woman would not willingly leave behind her sword, it accompanied her everywhere she went - it was simply something she would not abandon. Fur surely caught on branches, paws making splashes in the mud as she would lead her attacker further into the dangerous swamps, barely able to keep herself afoot with roots constantly there to hinder her, giving a cackle of taunt, "race ye to the border, meater! see if you can catch this wench!"
If she was not successful in her escape, she would scramble through the mud as best as she could, desperately searching for something to fend him off with, a rock, a root, something to use to attempt to collide with his jaw, in a hopeful attempt to throw his weight just enough to squirm out. She wasn't going to go down easily - she was no knight but she knew how to brawl like any tavern wench.
??? ?? ????????? 《》 she's called him a coward in calling him a meater //
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MERLIN GWYNNE
penned by teef
penned by teef