trauma can be illuminating

Aahh, the battlefield. She loved it here! The battlefield was practically her second home. The smell of blood in the air, the way the ground felt with all the years of it soaking in. The bones and bits of skin and fur she'd often find. A severed limb here, a torn ear there...there was always something going on here, and, as luck would have it, someone looking for an opportunity. With a grin, the feral Wraith sought out the call, glad that for once, she wasn't the one having to call for someone to fight her. She giggled like a hyena as she hurried through the battlefield, Seymour in the air, guiding her to the stranger. Almost in no time, she found him. A large, black-pelted male looking oh so ready to fight!

She grinned her infamous Cheshire grin as she approached, head cocking to the side as she looked at him, dual toned gaze peeking out from beneath the cracked skull that sat over her head, the bone armor she frequently wore rattled slightly with each movement. "Ooh! Pretty boy wants to fight? Medusa will fight him!" She exclaimed with almost uncontained excitement as she prepared herself for a fight.

"Speech"