Ain't shit slick to a can of oil; any

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Ah, though Scorch may not have the fluffy tail of a fox nor the pointed snout, she has the heart and the teeth of one. However carnivorous her mouth bids her to be, however, she has never thirsted for blood. Well, not in a thirsty way. To say that she has not charged into battle with the full intention of tasting red iron upon her tongue would be an utter and complete lie. Would you expect any less from my big fiery girl?

She’s meandering – no, striding purposefully (queens don’t meander) - through the festively green kingdom when the sound of light hooffalls draw her attention back to the real world. A single ear peels away from its back-facing position, curious as to just what creature could have such light a step. Most women here were very large – hell, have you seen her? And the children, well, they simply are not that quiet.

Curiosity peeked, the mare veers through the trees, stepping over a rotting log as leaves pull against her bare skin. Surging through the resistance, a streak of blood appears on her left shoulder, though she pays it no mind. The dancing of her fire conceals the wound well, anyhow.

Peering into the shaded clearing, the sixteen hand tall woman spots the dainty Arabian. She’s seen the face, and heard the name, and only now comes to put them together. Scorch snatches a mouthful of grass on her way towards the young fox-shifter. For some odd reason, she feels incredibly exhilarated to finally be meeting the vixen.

“You’re a pretty one.” Tuscan-red eyes perform a one-over on the sleek midnight mare. “Got anything besides looks going for you, Vixie?” She smirks darkly, completely aware of the incorrect usage of Vyx’s name. Alas, nicknames really are quite fun. You can’t blame her for simply wanting to have fun.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle