Forget it and fight

Barghest held her paw steady, watching the faint glint of light bounce off the black metal talons as she scraped them against stone. The sharp, metallic sound sliced through the silence of her den, a memory of battles she had been partaking in—day in and day out, for months now. The act had become a ritual, almost meditative, each drag of claw against stone chasing away the restless energy that swirled within her like a storm.

She had taken to sharpening them in slow, methodical strokes, as if the discipline of it could tether her thoughts and bind her restless nature. The battlefield waited, yes, but so did the wild energy within her. Each stroke against the stone felt like a vow—a silent one that no matter how fierce her internal storm became, she would harness it, channel it. She would let it out only when it was time. Barghest’s gaze was fierce, her breath even, but her gaze cloudy, overtaken by something that hungered for the clash of battle and the rush of blood, for the chaos that her sharpened claws would bring. Now was the time for rest, for refinement, and refocusing, but not for much longer.

She offered the stillness of her den a soft chuckle from deep within her chest, and moved onto her next talon.

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