a thorn in the paw

Bylgja did prefer the Maw to the Steppe, but the stones were pleasant enough to behold. She moved over grasses with a delicate step -- well. As delicate as her steps got, which wasn't saying much at all. She was large, but not as large as the others of her pack; several of them were bigger than her, and that was on its own incredibly impressive.

The tattooed woman circled, once, and then sat in the grass before throwing her head back and calling to her packmates:

"Packmates! Come, tussle with me!*" Sure, she was a healer, technically, but that didn't mean she had to be a pacifist. It meant, in fact, that she could not be a pacifist at all; that was the path to ruin, if you asked her. "Let me test myself against you!*" She called in Norse, of course.

Not all of the pack could understand it, but that was fine by her; she could and would translate for any who came by to see what the hollering was about. Her tongue rolled over her jaws, and Bylgja waited, ears perked forward and eyes wide. Her strong form practically trembled with excitement, for this would be a wonderful time, win or lose.

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*-> spoken in Norse.