The blond storyteller was undaunted by my words or approach. In fact she met me head on, completely unfazed, nearly brushing our chests together by her boldness. I stiffen, resenting the nearness of this woman, but holding fast as her creamy lips and hot breath move to form words that I wouldn't understand. Those soft vocals are taunting, not soothing. They aren’t a curse, but a lure. Dark ears flick back a notch and my brows furrow with growing frustration, yet I don't retort her strange words. I have a feeling she is beyond listening to me.

Ah Drom, not now--not tonight. Any other eve I'd been glad to school her in the art of dancing. We'd have spun beneath the frozen sky as lovers do, I being the gentle teacher that'd firmly guide her flesh to become taunt, seasoned. Yar, but now my soul felt as a caged wolf. I imagine it gashing and snarling, frothing toward the end of a fragile chain that was the pitch black sorrow which plagued this heart. A starving animal robbed of light, of love.

My gaze never left her, but the bottomless pools began to harden, become angry. A fire which burned in my soul was slow to come alive but when it did, there were few that could simmer hotter. "Drom," I cautioned softly, tried to warn. Don't be rash child. She moved away, though not to retreat. I started to speak again, to leave this glade and walk back into the forest. Leave for the sake of my sanity.

Drom wouldn't have me leave, she pushed from the ground. Creamy lips curling back, the storyteller came seeking blood. I snarled, a rumbling sound that sounded unnatural coming from the jaws of an herbivore. Her snaking neck and gashing teeth find the left side of my neck before I can react, she scraps the thick fur I'd earned during Frostfall but didn't break past. I pull up, roaring with frustration into a standing rear. Jerking my crown angerly to follow her passing frame. Dual gold dipped pinions extend to thrash. They swung fast and hard, without my usually reserve or withholding.

They strike to bat against that sandy colored head or neck as Drom moves to put distance between us. Her kick falls to the inner side of my right thigh. That blunt kick stings when hoof meet flesh, a bruise would later swell. Truthfully I can hardly feel the pain of it. I feel hot and angry, my blood sings a sweet song. Ashy lips pull away to show her the shine of ivory. While reared I swung my forelegs out, with the pointed tips of my feet angled down. I hope a flailing hoof would strike the top of her spine or rear.

Words: 465
Attack: (1/3)
@[Dröm]
OCC: sorry it took so long

Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer
Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer