Two bright moons socketed into a velvet nightscape glare back at Sartura from her own cimmerian reflection in the stream, its surface glassy and smooth, the image pristine. Brilliantly contrasting with her shrouded visage is a brand new set of branched alabaster antlers sitting atop; despite clearly being of a juvenile slant, a fine rack has been foretold in their future, for their size and prong count are already at an impressive outset. Aside from the smear of dark sanguine caked onto the tips, there is a puppyish quality here too; it seems her grand crown has taken the lead on growth for now, compared to the rest of its mistress. A cascade of thick, colorful hair frames it all in oceanic waves that shift emerald and azure, iridescent in the glow of a clear day. From model breeding comes her cut, strong and youthful with muscles contracting fluildly under a coat of silvered bone and ash, knitted together by rounded artful curves. Statuesque she is, power and untamed spirit waiting for her designation atop sculpted black pillars.

With the screeching buzz of the cicadas loud in her ear, she turns away from the water and tosses a venomous look toward her right shoulder, as it throbs hotly with fresh pain; gouged into the flesh is a sloppy claw mark, puckered pink in rampant irritation, plastered with drying blood thick and gem vivid. It drags above the joint and each shift of her body sends new fiery licks of pain to sear across her side. Memories of yesterday come flooding back then... To both their great surprise, she had stumbled upon a rabid bear. A young creature, much like herself, but delirious with illness, which quickly proceeded to launch an attack. Caught in the impromptu ambush enacted by the roiling mass of raging froth and matted fur, that was once perhaps a lovely caramel brown, she found herself knocked to the ground where it landed that wretched blow. There was no air in her lungs until she howled with sudden rage, stabbing one of her bladed prongs into its jugular, clean and fast, before yanking her head back for good measure to tear open the blood-rich veins and arteries of its neck. The body had sagged heavily against her, but that was easily shoved off.

Since then, she had managed to bathe most of the gore off in a short amount of time; a feat considering the animal had drained out onto her damn face as she lay, still a bit stunned stupid, on the grass beneath it. But the gift it gave her before she took its life with little repentance could not be so easily washed away. With an upward sigh, the doe takes account of her surroundings. Midday and blistering hot, the burning sun relentlessly beats against her brow and backside in a great fog of heat while trees along the horizon shimmer, the earth baking under the onslaught. Light bounces off the gentle current at her feet to shimmy across the tree trunks in a dazzling display, lighting the forest up with white fire. It was too hot for the birds to sing; only noisy insects keep her company in this stagnant glen.