this is poppin', you a fanboy

She hears the sound of barking, or snarling. But she has no visual on the other’s who have joined the fray. She can only catch slight glimpses of the boy, the sounds he makes that egg on her own fierce reverberations. She is creating herself a masterpiece of damage, of lacerations upon the underbelly of the elephant. It moves, she moves, not letting it stamp her down with it’s massive feet. She ducks and weaves, returning like a parasite to the same spot; teeth rending flesh and sinew, talons flaying whatever they struck as she went. It was a handy bit of weaponry she had there, and it deeply satisfied her to watch rivulets go flying around her with every attack.

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