The air is dry and thick with dust. Waves of heat shimmer on the edges of the world, creating a distorted view of what is really there. Cicadas hiss ceaselessly in protest of the heat, a constant vibration on the wind. Clusters of tall, flaxen grasses are spread across the red clay among the occasional thorned acacia tree, breaking up the otherwise flat and barren landscape.
Perfect conditions for a kill.
This is the moment she has been training for her whole life. Ever since she was a kit, she has been primed for the life of a warrior, a hunter, a killer. She can strike a clay target down out of the sky with a spear. She can outrun an ostrich and has the reflexes of a cobra. She is undefeated in hand-to-hand combat. No other plumerian has ever been able to keep a hold on her; she can wriggle her way out of any grip. She has studied the hunting tactics of lions, vipers, hawks, and crocodiles, and been taught to withstand and ignore the harshest of African weather conditions, as well as