
A scar-covered, mud-caked miqo'te peers out of a hedge of tangled brush that borders the shoreline, her ears flat.
She growls. Someone beat her to her quarry. Her brass-colored eyes flit over the scene near the water's edge.
Still alive... but too weak to put up much of a fight. The other one is scrawnier than a jackal.Â
Maybe if I can get to that sword first I can gut them both.
She growls. Someone beat her to her quarry. Her brass-colored eyes flit over the scene near the water's edge.
Still alive... but too weak to put up much of a fight. The other one is scrawnier than a jackal.Â
Maybe if I can get to that sword first I can gut them both.