The Thrill of Control

She smelt him before she saw him- the musky scent of a man on the breeze, a smell that evoked a sense of raw, earthy masculinity. Accompanying him was the scent of pine and sea salt, noteworthy of extensive time spent in a single territory. A pack wolf, perhaps. She did not recognize the lingering scent on him, but it was undeniable nonetheless- and truly, she did not care if he belonged to a kingdom or not. Because they all tasted the same on her greedy little tongue.

Changing her route, and altering her pace. Nimue zips through the tall grasses, tracking the male down with ease, attempting to ambush him from behind. As she closes in, she attempts to use the element of surprise- wanting to utilize her tiny size, hoping to conceal herself until the very last second. Once she’s in proximity, she lunges from the grasses and strikes like a vipress. Her needle-like teeth are aiming for his right hind leg, where his femur and tibia connect to form a joint. In sync, her canine companion is emerging behind her, ready to engage with Nimue’s opponent, or his companions, if he has them present.

"Nimue Vasanti"