All the words are gonna bleed from me

The satisfaction of finding her mark was short lived when her cousin lifted her front leg, throwing it across an auburn shoulder. Never mind. She still had a half crazed grin on her face, blood dribbling from her parted maw as her sides heaved with excitement. This was how she preferred to start her day anyway.

Róta adjusted her mark, dropping her head and splaying her paws against the downward motion. With a rapid thrust she bought her (as they often liked to comment, very thick) skull up, aiming to drive the wind from the taller woman and use the opening to snatch away the chipmunk as her spoils. If the gods had any baring on their lives, they might like to intervene to save their meal. The spoils always went to the victor.

“Speech”