Otter Creek Blame it on my own sick pride

@Astrid

Sound of crushing bone echoed in the silence of the creek. Long ago the birds fled, leaving the beast alone with his prey while dug into their entrails. Otter Creek was full of easy prey, the otters were comfortable in these lands and wandered too far from shore - leaving themselves vulnerable for the earthen brute to grab hold of a few and create a sort of buffet for himself. 

Their smaller teeth left barely a mark as they failed to find flesh under the thick dirtied pelt, some scratches and bites on his legs showed proof of their attempt at defending themselves, but all for a futile try. 

With a muzzle sticky of blood, the pink muscle within the moist cavern of a mouth slid across to clean himself of most - lifting his head from the small pile of corpses to cast a gaze. Ears attentive to his surroundings - the brute was aware of the pack near by, neighbouring the creek. Their borders were all too clear when he initially saw it, marked in gore rather than just piss, it was hard to miss. Even if he did not fear their presence, to leave himself open for an ambush was a move stupid enough for a whelp to make.

Tearing ribs open, using his own weight to keep the corpse on the ground and leveraging the cage with a grip tightly held b his jaws, he continued to ravage the prey. If most wolves were like that woman on the stony hills, they too might come to protect lands they did not mark.

It was not often Nyx took a stroll in daylight, nor in this direction. Often she came by the Greatwater Lake, for it was the perfect retreat, and she had always written this part of her surrounding areas off with the assumption that nothing much was that way. Today, though, Nyx felt mighty curious about things, even though she had not slept that night. She was a creature of night, after all, and did not fair so very well under the rays of the celestial orb.

She spotted the reddish bulk of meat in the distance even before she noticed what he was doing. Eating? So it seemed. Nyx knew better than to mess with those who were simply eating. Instead, she went to the shore and dipped her muzzle above the water, lapping some of it up while the rest streamed down her throat.

Despite her attempt at leaving the man be with his meal, his nose, before his ears picked up the familiar - yet estranged smell - while he dug through the carcass, feeding his belly would have to wait for the time being. There was something far more... interesting near by. The pack near by had a member that had wandered from their borders, and into his immediate presence. Raising his head from the fallen beast, the ruby optics of the man bore into the dark fur of the damsel that had wandered to the lake. 

He had a feeling he would run into one of them eventually.

You are from the pack who's borders are marked by blood. A bit of overkill, don't you think? He mocked with a coy tone, waiting to see what kind of reaction he would get from her. What kind of wolves were they behind that clearly marked border?

Her eyes were opened just a crack as she drunk the cool water, lithe yet powerful frame bent down as gracefully as her mother yet she'd much rather resemble her father. not in complexion, of course not, simply in behaviour. Her peripheral vision did she spot the man rising from his kill, supposedly looking at The Night herself. Nyx did not follow his movements, too content on drinking as much as she could before she had to speak. When the man did speak, she found it rather offensive in a way, but not in a way she could not handle. She raised her muzzle from the water, still dripping, and fixed her breezy, emotionless eyes upon the stranger.

And who are you to judge our methods? I certainly did you nothing wrong. She reasoned, expression forever the same; unmoving, pretty, but cold as the winds up north.

Her reaction was not what he expected, but welcomed. Tense muscles ready to defend had already began to relax with her reply, all the while a wry grin split his face into two uneven halves. Such a blatant display on borders beg to be judged, I can't help but wonder if its to over compensate something. His tone was unusual, barely speaking to the woman he was facing and more or less a thought that he let slip casually.

Why do you become personaly defensive, a land bordering with gore and yet you only defend yourself. With a sigh, he exhaled his final word. Interesting. Depite her cold nature, he took it all in and expressed an obvious glee. One of twisted roots, but he was pleased none the less. However, he did not forget her complete question, he simply chose not to introduce himself this time. Too many times had he been the one to be asked of who he is without first a polite introduction on their part. 

I'm curious. What is it you are trying to tell with such art.

She remained unmoving as she stood there by the water, observing the stranger as he spoke - too much for her liking, if she were to be honest with herself. She had a tendency to do the same when it came to explaining her motives, but she had yet to be as bad as Nemesis. Nemesis had mastered the art of drawn-out sentences that ultimately went no where. It was one of the reasons her words had never truly hurt her. Nyx preferred Damien in all the possible ways. It was not my doing. I blame it on our false leader, or the mindless state of revenge that has overtaken nearly all of our members. She explained, not scared of revealing this information. Perhaps it would spark more hatred for Nemesis' doings, and that was always a plus.

I am a disowned daughter - it is in my nature to only protect my own. She replied, no bitterness caught in her accented voice. She did not mind being the only disowned daughter of the "famous" Nemesis, nor did she care she was not seen as a Blackfeather. She was something all her own, and Nemesis actions would come and bite her in her ugly ass again sooner or later.

What I think we are trying to make clear with our borders is something along the lines of "stay the fuck away from our home".