The female snorted contemptuously at Genrit's words, a throaty chuckle in the back of her throat. A thin line of pain down her back is the only wound the white dragon managed to score, a few of her scales dislodged and a glob of lake slime mucking up his taloned paw. Emerald green she was, under the disguise.

[color=39b54a]"How dare you insult my ear-frills with your weak lies, drake! I've been the Mistress of this lake for more than a century and I've never been assaulted by your noisome stench before. I think I would remember a dragon who looked like a bloated codfish!"[/color]

Noticing the flicker of fire at the corners of his mouth and the acrid smoke, the she-drake was wary. Her own weapon had yet to reveal itself to him, though a sickly sweet smell accompanied her words. His drooling, however, made him look slow-witted.