Hideaway Strath the immaculate conception

The northborn bitch rarely left the territory these days. Hemlock’s heat cycle was upon them, and Lotte found herself incredibly protective of the female — but every day spent within Teaghlaigh’s confines was a day she wasn’t out searching for her child, and the former queen was not made of stone. She slipped through the underbrush like a living shadow, her matte fur blending easily into the little pockets of shade, but it wasn’t subterfuge she sought now.

It was speed and precision.

Unlike her mate, the soturi was absolutely silent when she made her move; she aimed to circle around, aiming for the usurper’s opposite flank with her jaws. The gangster and his nightingale essentially approached Zhenya like the two splayed points of a block arrow, trajectory converging and narrowing in a loose “v” shape. Lotte’s primary aim was the woman’s hindquarters, and her steel trap jaws cracked wide as her surefooted paws swept near, and attempted to shut like a thunderclap on whatever flesh she could reach.