Amsar's lips curled from a frown to a full blown snarl. Her muzzle knotted and her long canines glittered in the dawning light. At first she was silent, but slowly, dangerously, a growl began to rise from deep in her throat. It was like listening to a gentle breeze become a thunderstorm.<br/><br/>"You better watch who you are talking to, boy." Amsar's voice was unusually low and gritty. The pupils of her orange eyes dilated, "You better run off with your catch, if you know what's good for you."<br/><br/>She cracked the whip in her hands, looking down at the hooded boy. Her fingers gently moved over the blades near the tip of the weapon, her black hand pads polished the flat of the razors.<br/><br/>"I'm sure there are some things more valuable to you than those purses. Like your tongue. It would make a fitting trophy."