sunday six-by-some-measure

Still under a pile of exchange assignments, so have a bit of some Aredhel/Thuringwethil that I started for B2MEM and keep thinking I'm going to come back to.

The sharp prickling of teeth at the back of her neck is the first warning she has of Thuringwethil's presence. No leathery wings in the sky tonight, no twigs snapped beneath clawed feet. Simply the trees, and then the teeth.

Aredhel's head lolls back into the bite nearly against her will, though she makes no effort to disguise the irritation in her voice as she snaps, "You're late."

"Impossible," Thuringwethil sighs, as if the accusation is an imposition of unbearable weight.

Let Her Chomp.