Shook the flowers from your hair,

Part of the brim was that of a forest of pines. One could see the northern wolf enter into it's claims, a slight pace as she jogged to. Though a fog behind her, it did not venture further into the mountainous woodlands. She emerged though, an hour or so later with a plump rabbit within her maw. Vendrussel found herself often tempting to the place when she felt of a lunch beyond that of fish - for the Dragonford isle was not well enough to continue hunting the prey.

A hum to her step, and a trial of blood droplets left behind. A leg for herself, the rest for the cache.

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+1 Formation Points

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Being vague about the results of this thread

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The pines that framed the shores of the Sepulcher and the waters it sprouted from were often coated in mist. To her it seemed much more like the land of Myrkheim than any real place of existence on Midgard. She wasn't much for the seiðr and its like, nor the realms of theology, but she wondered if the land itself was bleeding into this one, as if the sap from the land's branch of Yggdrasill had dripped onto their own.

With its surreal qualities she was surprised that there were tangible things at all like blood. And the scent of a wolf that had begun to dissipate in the mists. She followed the trail, more from curiosity than hunger, until she caught up with the hunter who had wrested food from this land of intangibility.

But she recognized the wolf. Immediately, with a pang of...anger? embarrassment? Knowing her it was probably both. “Sorðinn...” — Fuck.
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As development would be ; it was clear that Dragonford and Northfall most likely would not get along. She did not enjoy being threatened twice upon her own land. She found them were arrogant in that way, throwing words as they claim more then they could take. Finding trouble when there was no need, for Vendrussel nor' Kei went upon their land demanding that they leave and vacate, nor' attempting to claim their mountains.

So when she saw someone familiar, the northern dragon did not take it too kindly. Her prey had been dropped, and back ruffled lightly with a rumbling of a low growl crawling from her throat, "Leave," Vendrussel so demanded.

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Whatever sulking drive that had begun to creep up on her faded as soon as the woman rounded on her, her body language clearly threatening. A part of Ynness jumped at that, the part that craved to forget it all in a whirl of blood, flesh, and fur. “Is this yours too, then?” her voice is laced in sarcasm, bitter as vinegar as she beholds the woman and tries to shed all forms of hesitance. “You lot gonna claim the whole coast?”
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She thought it was hypocritical, for the wolf to judge them for claiming a beach when not only did they attempt this beach, they also did her isles. She stepped closer, an abandonment to her prey while a growl seethed from her throat. A head held high and a lip curled back ; Vendrussel didn't respond to the child without a guard. When an eye looked around and a smell was to be seen, there was nothing, no one to be seen, and she thought it was.. Foolish.

Bravery as it was, a child who lost limbs and carried scares would not find it easy to fight another, especially not on her own land. She gave a final warning, a snapping of her jaws, and attempt to do so awfully close to the other if she didn't back off in time. Though it wasn't entirely nice to do so against a weaker child, she had to do so to protect her land.

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+1 Formation Points

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The warning was not taken as such. Instead, it was a switch, a trigger that released the pent up aggression welling within her, to finally sally forth without inhibition or remorse.

Ynness was going to fight today. And win or lose, she was going to enjoy it.

The young Vikingr responded to the older woman's warning snap with a bite of her own, attempting to reach for the woman's muzzle or jaw and hold her there. It was all brutality, with little finesse or battle strategy, just bloodthirst justified by loose ideals.
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Some part of her did not feel right, to attack not only a child, but someone of a clear disadvantage. And yet, as she was so taught, any warrior is a warrior regardless of what form. If they were to attack back, they were prepared for a fight even if the disadvantage was there, it did not always mean an automatic lose for them. As she so taught, to honor those who fight until one is to succumb to that lose, or they were to be at the door of death itself. A dragon, to embrace them into the afterlife, as they so guard thoroughly.

When the young woman did not back of, she could feel a fang glide upon her jaw before backing off. It was unexpected, as Vendrussel felt her cheeks grow wet from the blood, and her tongue wisped over. Fur raised she charged on, a snapping of jaws to continue onwards, though she was quick to turn, and be beside the other. Her ideal was to grab her by her throat, and pin the other down.

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+1 Formation Points

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a part of her swelled in triumph at the blow, small and insignificant as it was in the grand scheme of things. a wild smile tore her face beyond its normally angered frown. she didn't side-step the charge as it came for her. she knew that she was too slow, her missing leg removing a significant amount of what agility she might have had. she had to be a tank.

her body twisted to meet the woman's attempt to throw her down. it was unsteady work, and she could already feel her leg and hips burning, but another rush of adrenaline threw it from her mind as she attempted to get her fangs into the woman's body — anywhere she could grab a hold and rip and tear.
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Those of the dragon clan were wolves like those of the nordic kind, raised in northern ways of fighting and so.. Though she was more used to northen waters if anything, and still continued to clinging to such ways. Except those of her nature, were often fearless, and even foolish some may call. For once they reach that of a nirvana of enlightenment, there is no fear of death, and especially so when the opposite was a weaker stance. Vendrussel didn't think too much out loud on it, but she thought of herself as a special case. For not everyone saw gifts from the ancients, a guidance to a land they told her she was destined for — so it was interpreted.

Thus she did not shy away when the younger one clamped onto her shoulder, but in such an instance she pushed more forcibly onto the other, and attempted clamping of teeth right onto her throat. Death was what she sought in this battle, and Vendrussel was fully going to give if so.

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Her teeth found a substantial amount of flesh, much to her delight. She didn't care much for the dragon woman's continued attack, already starting to feel teeth grazing against her vitals. Awareness of imminent death struck her, but did not dissuade her. Valhalla was all she thought of in response. She sunk her teeth in deeper into the shoulder, insistent on doling out something debilitating, something that would remain. She worked her teeth back and forth, hoping to shred the meat in her jaws.
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She could her shoulder tear and though, marks of skin falling through and brought the faintest wince — but Vendrussel still not move. When she grabbed onto the others throat, her jaws covering through, for a moment, she truly could crush the yearlings wind pipe. A finishing blow, especially to someone so dangerous to wander to the borders of another, and even dare to fight. Except she hesitated, for though warriors of the north were prepared to die, she at times could not fathom simply ending someone so young and brave to perish to the underworld itself. 

Her body pushed forward, mouth full of the others neck she attempted to dominate and push the other down into a submission, and away from the shoulder. There was a rumbling of a growl, a warning, and her only one. For if the other refused to give that a chance and went forth in her violence, she would grant the death that she so sought.

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