A slight slick of tongue to parched lips whetted her appetite to new heights, tasting the dust of the day, the grit of the sand between her teeth. Her muscles were seized with a strain to leap from her current landsight and race across the distance, tackle the teams of faithful Fae soldiers and bear down upon them with her teeth. Snapping on bone and sinew between monstrous mortal molars.
There was a hunger within that had been instilled in the Banquet Hall of Bethmoora many months ago and despite the length of time and being fed to filling…it did not dissipate. The feral famishment was fixed…and ever present.
Her head cocked to the side, trained senses distilled in the dominion of an existence of listening rather than speaking, picking up the approach of another. Her gaze remained locked however upon the span of No Man’s Land wherein a few hours time she and a small retinue would make camp, along with her enemy, for the sake of the show of negotiations.
But on the subject freedom there could be no negotiation.