Golden Glade rocky training montage

The cold wind on her face no longer felt foriegn, rather it became a sensation she had come to enjoy. With each step she took along the snow covered meadow she could feel the steady pulse of her beating heart. It had been long since Mictec felt this alive, not dancing the fine line of starvation, her injury almost completely healed that she made herself run. Running in no clear direction, just for the thrill of feeling alive in her own body after months of abuse. Building back up her endurance to be the huntress she had always been without having to fear the impacts it may have on the pack. Now she was in control, the way she was destined to be, but she was now building a place in her vision, a place that would welcome others like her.

The twitch of her nose caught the faint scent as her marigold eyes widened. The hunt was on. She was quick to turn on her heels, making a beeline to her next victim. Winter was here, a storm would be approaching so there was no time to waste.

Her pace slowed as she steadied her breath the more pungent the scent became. Body close to the ground, ears flickered about as she tried to locate the prey.

not since the ritual on acatenango had she seen snow; it stung her paws and clung to her pelt.

she sat huddled around herself as the tithes do. cold seeped into her bones so they felt shardglass and weak; were it not for the pulse of blood moving in her wrists she would appear dead.

the long lope of a predator sounded past. atoztli remained still, dark gaze reaching into the gloom for the nameless figure that stole past.

In those early days of her arrival she would have salivated at the scent of prey, how ashamed she had felt of herself to be in such a state. But her new outlook changed shame to pride. She saw the small brown crown poke out of the ground, it's back to her. She allowed herself a small smile, the wind was in her favor as she took each step softly. The gopher flicked it's head about, nose twitching but stupidly did not look behind.

Muscles tensed as she paused, letting instinct propel her forward. At the last second her jaw opened wide, and in a swift motion the crisp snap of the neck came satisfaction.

Mictec straightened herself out, a quick shake to remove the snowflakes that graced her underbelly like stars on a moonlit night. Liberation had become her until the scent of another wafted with the breeze. She froze, this scent was all to familiar.

a rustling. a snap. the quivering end-of-life sound of a soul subdued.

then nothing but the sweeping sound of cold.

atoztli unbound herself, listening as the rush of routine evening sounds filled the silence.

another scent wafted close, familiar as a knife's edge against the press of her veins.

you, she hissed into the gloom, teeth bared into the gloaming. under her breath she lodged a protective spell, invoking the aegis of the very heron-spirit that had been her namesake.

As if electricity blanketed the air with how quick the fur begun to flair, her lips begun to draw back to reveal the teeth that had ended the lives of many. The scent was one Mictec believed would belong to the past and yet it plagued the air the way it did the day the two legged beasts abducted her.

Qué estás haciendo aquí? she snarled long forgetting the prey she had been hunting.

Muscles tensing, Mictec no longer felt the need to slink away into the dark. No, for my pack to live I cannot back down she told herself as she took a daring step forward.

atoztli's ears thrust forward, gaze crossed by steel. this was not how it all was supposed to work. she was supposed to be back at home, consecrating totems with her mother. not this.

what was she doing here? no, such question was better served lobbed to the masked marauder. que estas haciendo aqui? she repeated back, mistrustful and wary.

as the oilspill of a wolf steps forward, atoztli stepped back with her ears pinned to her skull. last time they had come to blows, atoztli could not even describe what happened. her gaze flickered to the forgotten meal, a lurch in her stomach announcing the long draw of hunger settling within her belly.

I have no need to answer preguntas estúpidas. Mictec practically spit the words, as if she had tucked the venom out of a snakes bite. Memories swirled of a time long ago, upon her recent exile. Those days were stained with blood with the killing spree that followed the exile, no care given and seeking any opportunity to confront la muerte herself.

La madre would have been appalled by such aggressive force but el padre was the one who trained her in warfare. Estabas allí cuando esos monstruos me llevaron a ese infierno. Another daring step forward. And here you are again, have you brought them with you to take me away again?

Mictec could not deny she still harbored anger, yet it was misplaced. As her head dipped slightly, her marigold eyes blazing like that of the harsh sun on the hottest of summer days, she could feel all rational thought threatening to disappear. But there was a pause, the low growl of hunger had become familiar to her and to hear it from the other begun to chizzle away at mask she wore.

not even atoztli, in all her learnings of the old lore, could explain the shadows that descended them both when they came to blows. upon waking later, a strange sensation in her throat and stomach. but she had an idea:

the wrath of tezcalipoca.

faithful to the cold whims of the divine, atoztli understood now. she bows her head lower, so that the wrath of this one would not descend.

es la voluntad de lo divino. she murmurs into the snow, avoiding the fireshow of mictec's sunblazing gaze.

The people cannot hold more mouths, we must kill trespassers the padre would say, the closest he would ever get to acknowledging the ancestors bloody past. But blood spilled never was the result of the ambition to conquer territory, it was only spilled to protect their little slice of nothing.

Anger kept at bay, her teeth still remained bare, and itch traveling through her legs to pounce. 

Why are you here then? the words spoken were as cold as the frost that coated the plants surrounding them, the same way la madre would scorn her.

snowmelt singed her nose, the crisp scent wafting from a winterworn ground.

atoztli remained bowed, even as the other's words showered around her in a waterfall of accusation.

no se. the priestess admits with a twist of helplessness.

The others words took her by surprise. The brawl was not one to had been taken lightly. She had carried the scent of a rival pack, but with ties severed Mictec had no reason to instigate other than a death wish.

Yet the passage of time started rough, the unbalance was beginning ro right itself.

Ven, no tiene sentido darle otra vida al invierno.

the blow she waits for does not come.

incredulous, atoztli lifts her gaze. tezcatlipoca is good; this is the divine's will.

relived beyond magnitude, atoztli follows. soy atoztlitemoc. she breathes into the empty space between mictec's spine and her nose, an ear turned to become supplicant to her new leader's name.