Dewr, rethinking, adjusted her helmet, grabbed a knife in her jaw, and got another sword, painted blue. “And whaddya thenk of that, thehn?” she challenged Sila.
watch my pathetic attempts at imitating a scottish or welsh accent
Dewr put all her strength into pushing the rock, and managed to push it a Nicheling-length. She dug at the ground under it, and opened up only a rabbil’s burrow.
She got up off the rock, and pranced onto the stone floor. She scratched at a suspiciously weak-looking spot, then sighed as it opened no inviting hole for her to crawl in. She stepped back onto the rock and scratched at it, trying to move it.
Dewr sat on a rock, its stone digging into her hind legs. She winced with pain, then scratched her paw. Naughty! she scolded. No, no pain for you!
dewr is me in real life