She was at death’s door; a knock away from eternal sleep, but her body and survival instincts were screaming and thrashing, making her clashing against her opponent. Ciardha was larger, stronger and experienced than she was in physical combat with dragons. His old days of fighting and battling other dragons over territory haven’t faded. His scales were harder than iron and his teeth pierced and tore through her hide as if she were cloth being ripped to shreds.
Asha tried to bite at softer areas of his hide where joints of muscle connected to his limbs or the soft underside of his neck, but when she got near he would use his bulk against her then a grip on her with another series of thrashes until she came loose. Too close meant death. Too far and he would breathe a blast of flames that scorched her scales and soft areas of her hide. His breath could burn her if she was under for too long. Her hide wasn’t strong enough to deal with such heavy flames.
She was fighting a battle she could not win with sheer strength. She had no choice. She had to run. Her legs were ready to kick the ground until the black brute was on her again in which forced her to rear up in time to snap at his face and push against his chest. Claws sunk into his shoulders as his dug into hers. Talons gripping and pulling at thin white ones as his fangs flashed across her face.

Just a snippet from my story I work on here and there. Asha and Ciardha both belong to me.