Not weak. Not weak. I am not weak.

The rational decision was to accept the helping hand that had been offered to him. Stay in the care of the woman and her family, wait until his deformed leg healed over. Then he'd be able to continue his hunt for his captor's lair without setbacks.

But when has Orochi ever been rational? He was a boy made of wildfire; forever moving, unstoppable. He needed to find Revui and his captors. He needed to get revenge. Now. At some point during the the exchange at the border, he rejected that hand and went on his own path.

He did not get far.

Pure determination was a powerful thing, but it was not unbeatable. Reality crushed these kinds of things, and reality came in the form of a broken ankle.

Orochi had stopped by the lake for a quick rest, which turned into several days of struggle. No matter how hard he tried, Orochi could not move far without collapsing. So he was confined there, writhing and wincing through the days and nights.

Stupid.. fucking.. leg.. was the first thing he uttered that morning. An injury caused by the enemy long ago was the only thing stopping him from getting to them now. I'll fucking kill them, he hissed as he began gnawing at the wound.

He chewed mindlessly for hours, too exhausted to care. But as the hours went on, the injury grew warm, then hotter and hotter. Now it burned. And it hurt.

Fuck. fuck fuck. Orochi was mortified with what he had done. His blood ridden muscle was exposed to the elements. And was that a bone? Dear god. He could not rip his eyes away from the gore.

it is the blood that attracts her to the wolf-boy. shark-like, she presses through stiff, ice-covered reeds and decaying undergrowth, hunger writ across every line of her face. gaze flits over the reeds, every shred of movement reacted to with a flick of her auds and quick turn of her muzzle. greyjay is ravenous, but she is not stupid. 

walk lengthens to a lope, pausing once to paw at something organic, decaying, just beneath the snow. but the scent draws her ever onward, and then she finds the boy. auds swivel forward, gaze hungry as it alights on him. a wolf, but young. tongue passes over her lips, searching for what bleeds. it is disappointment, and then interest, that alights on her expression when her gaze finds the leg. 

she remains within the cover of the reeds, unmoving, staring out at the wolf-boy. it is unlikely he will keel over right then, but his death might come within days, should he be alone, and should she play her cards right. the coyote is if anything persistent, and patient.

The boy does not notice the predator's presence immediately. The thick scent of his own blood lay in the air, his eyes were focused on his flesh. Orochi did not move, other than the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

Suddenly, swiftly, he slams a paw onto flesh. Fighting was an act that had weaved it's way into his conscience. It did little to quell the pain; it only warranted an agonized cry.

What should I do. What should I do..!

Distressed eyes bounce this way and back, to the blood, up again, and— what was that? In the reeds? Hey.. A passerby willing to help? No, he didn't need anyone's help. He was strong.

Fuck off!

weakness. the discovery of it is an instinct breed into all wild things, and like a dowsing rod, she grows fixated on it. another's weakness is only her own reward. oh, but it is not so easy as to simply take what is proffered! she is not wolf, no powerful, fearless thing, and so when the boy tells her quite clearly to "fuck off!" she does so, twisting limbly in the manner of some feather-light thing and disappearing into the reeds. 

there she waits. she retreats, and then circles, the boy, aiming to near the limb. when she has found some suitable position, does she pause, hunker down and grow as still as the earth all around. breath now; carefully, slowly, in time with the wind that brushes the reeds with a lover's tenderness.

and wait.

and wait.

and move. she flings herself toward the boy, aims to snatch the leg in scissor-like jaws. she wants to taste the bleed he so carelessly bleeds, and so should her grip be true, she will proceed to tug.

To his surprise the creature actually leaves when she is told. That's a lot more than he could say for most of the wolves he'd come across. Actually that's more he could say for anyone he's seen. From the largest, strongest beast, to the quietest, most timid coward, they always took him like some kind of joke. The fact that someone got the memo bought a proud little grin to his face. Yeah you better run. He sniggered to himself. No one messes with Orochi.

Orochi was to swelled up with pride to notice the little creature actually hadn't left at all. She prowled around him, watched him through the reeds. It was much too late to notice her now. The creature burst towards him and wrapped her jaw around tender flesh.

The pain was no longer a soft, pulsating beat. It was a loud, searing sensation, growing in intensity as the creature shook his leg. Orochi twisted his head around in an awkward position, snapping wildly into the air and screaming all the while.

the screams, the snap of fangs on air, the wild, violent frenzy of the boy. it ought to have been more than enough to send the coyote on her way, but greyjay is infused with a wildness, a fierceness, only the heady taste of blood can bring. but she knows how quickly the odds can turn, creature made of shadow and cunning, and does not wish to struggle with the boy any longer than is necessary. 

something falters, gives, beneath her grip, and it is enough. her tugging is halted, briefly, and then in one swift motion she twists and pulls sharply toward her, in the same way one might try to get the top off a particularly crust bottle of maple syrup. she is not strong, nor decisive, but she knows the lay of bone and tendon and will manipulate them to the best she can.

He kicks, he bites, he screams, but there is nothing that stops this little fiend. His neck is too strained to get a good grip on his attacker, and he's too frightened to think critically. And there was no way he could think when he felt as if his body was being torn apart.

For a brief moment he feels nothing. No tugging, no gushing blood, no aganoy. Orochi looked down upon his leg just in time to see her yank. What the hell? Oh my god, what the fuck?! What the fuck!!

In her jaws was a part of a leg. His leg. And strings of flesh connected that  to a messy stub. Blood and meat still stuck to a petruding bone. W-w-wh.. Orochi shot up and stumbled fell back into the reeds. What did you.. What did you do to me?!

The world began to spin around him. The corners of his vision began to fade. Orochi balanced on shaking legs and stumbled towards the woman with his jaws agape.

tug and—

pop

the limb is held fast betwixt her jaws, free at last from the boy. she does not hesitate a moment. she drops it, only to grab again swiftly her prize, adjusting it within her jaws as she might a squirrel or a hare. baleful eyes stare at him a fleeting second, and then the coyote turns fluidly, careening into the reeds from whence she came. 

she is a fleeting shadow, seeking solitude in which to scarf down what she can of her prize. but not far, never too far; there is a whole meal to be had if she is patient; flank and liver and kidneys too.

a scream drew her close; the scream of a madman -- or prey. either way, food was on astara's mind as she lurked close to a scene rife with the iron-tinge of blood.

her ears tilted forward as she assessed the sight: a darting, writhing coyote -- and a boy on the ground, the snow around him dark with scarlet fringe.

and then a noise. astara straightened, a snarl loosed from her lips as she lurched towards the coyote -- a species of animal she had no love for. the boy could be dealt with - he would either serve as food or fun -- but this little thing --

she burst from cover, snow flung behind her as she went. her head was low, teeth bared -- intent to charge down the coyote and send it packing.

He does not get a grip on anything. Instead he falls forward in a clumsy manner. Snow and water rush into his mouth and he is left sputtering as the creature makes a retreat with his leg.

No, no, no, no! He stood up again and hopped a few feet before falling once more. He tried again and again, tears welling up in his eyes each time. It still felt as though the leg was there; he still felt a sensation, still felt that painful sting. But there was nothing but dangling ribbons of flesh and blood and bone.

Once again he was defeated in a swift and humiliating manner. The boy collapsed in the snow and watched his attacker retreat. Why... why. Why does this always happen? he hissed between his teeth. He curled up, just about ready to give up, but the sound of oncoming footsteps made him lift his head. He watched a shadow chase a thief.

run, run,

hunger lends fleetness to her steps, and while the arrival of a second complicates her ideal of thieving the wolf of the rest of its edible parts, it is a pursuit not yet abandoned. she will merely run further, and tread more carefully, whenever it is that she returns to find the boy again. 

when the thief is confident, finally, that the silence that settles all around will not be broken by the advent of another, the prize is dropped. a careful inspection reveals the smell of infection, but also of blood and flesh. wild things are seldom picky, and when she is done and gone, little remains save a pale bone and the underside of a paw.

no sooner had she burst upon the scene did the little thing flee -- with a morbid token in tow.

a split second of consideration on astara's behalf, and she elected to let the thing be: its gristly trinket was not worth the bulk of her efforts pursuing, and there was a dearth of easy prey to be had in the wilds to regain said energy.

in a smooth rollback, astara turned after the limping creature. his progress was etched by little sprinkles of red in the snow. she snatched what meager droplets she could, the snow crunching between her teeth as she set her hungry gaze on the boy that now limped and collapsed, curled around his bleeding stump.

astara considered what to do, licking her chops thoughtfully.

His ears pushed forwards, listening for any further signs of commotion. He hoped to hear screaming or crying from the little creature. It would serve her right for making off with his.. leg. 

Godamnit.

Orochi forgot about about the pursuit, instead choosing to study the stub where his ankle should have been. The amount of blood that pooled from the open wound was enough to make him gag. It was not the creature he blamed for this, nor himself. His captors were at fault. If it were not for them, his leg would have been fine. He could've easily chased off that theif. The dragon growled beneath ragged breath. They would pay, he'd make them pay.

Suddenly the shadow comes into view. She stood before him with a hungry sort of stare. Get back, he hissed weakly. Orochi tried standing again, but was too nauseous to stand on his feet for very long.

even from her vantage she can tell, this one’s time would likely be limited. astara’s tongue paused along her dark gums as she considered when that hour might draw near.

she could stay here, wait for death to run this boy’s body cold — she could help speed it along, too. or she could bring this boy to merrick — and see just how her little butcher favored his newest toy.

deciding then, astara reacted to orochi’s weakened hiss with a smile — bare and toothy and lacking in warmth. she lowered her head and made to circle around him; he would tire or pass out from bloodloss eventually, and then, she would drag him to bearclaw for merrick’s review.

I said.. get lost! Orochi dragged himself forward with his front legs, while the other lay limp behind him. He stopped to wince with every step. The tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes now dripped down with the blood. He was so hurt, so humiliated and now—well—he didn't know what this woman would do with him.

The world was going dark. Leave.. me.. alone.. Orochi crumbled to his knees, fell to the side, and fell into a deep rest.

orochi rallied long enough to emit one last command — which astara thoroughly ignored with an owlish blink of her deep indigo eyes. 

she sprung back at his lurching, settling out of reach — yet every so often her gaze flickered towards the boy and the crimson pool of blood which spread ominously outward. 

a silence came over the glade. astara made to move close, distrustful of the boy’s sudden peace. insuring he had indeed fell victim to bloodloss, hysteria, or shock (or all three) astara prodded once at the boy’s slack shoulders, and then, if no stirring commenced, would attempt to drag the boy back to their coven.