Redsand Canyon And all I want is to fill my soul

And this one is for @Hela
Dated: August 1st

Donovan had brought back some injured girl.
He seemed to be collecting yearlings.

Derg sought her out now, to see how she was doing and what she needed.
By the sounds of it, she'd had a shit time in Yuèlóng, which was only expected seeings as how they were treated.

some part of her feels underwater, slumbering. there is a disconnect between where she ought to be, and where she is now; stalking through the canyons of the wolf-dog's claim, still-healing and scarred. the future remains uncertain, and the man, as promised, has not pressured her to pledge her loyalty here yet entirely, ultimately keeping his distance since leading her here. 

paws on stone have the warlord still, auds pressing toward the sound. a wolf, smaller than she and prominently scarred. creams, browns and charcoals are painted across his pelt, and he moves with an ease that comes from knowing this place well. a twitch of a lobe in acknowledgment, waiting for him to move on or to be addressed. for now, she is content with the role of observer in this place, learning what she may about the tried-and-trained mercenaries donovan claims to harbour here.

Ah, there she was.
She didn't look very happy.
Like she loathed the world and everyone in it.

She twisted her ear to him. He chuffed, showing he wanted her attention, and moved towards her.
He dropped his head, letting his tail sway to show he was friendly.
He didn't want to cause her strife for thinking he wanted her to do something she wasn't yet capable of.

"How're you healing?" he asked, looking for her injuries.

expression kept carefully neutral, the woman regards the male as he speaks, gaze searching. the jagged scars on her forelimb are obvious, but a shift of her weight is enough to hide the underlying bone and muscle damage that heals still. a twitch of her tailtip is a pale echo of the male's friendliness, but her motionless in being approach is enough to convey her acceptance of him doing so. 

tongue pulls over her fangs, disliking the fact that this man knows more about her than she him. "well enough," comes her answer, probing then, "who are you?" she wonders, idly, if the scars that disfigure his face are a monument to a fight won or lost, or, akin to those on her forelimb, something simply survived.

She should be resting, he knew.
But of course, a young warrior would not, and would end up doing more damage than it was worth later on.
Or so he's been told in his growing years.

She looked like she'd seen a lot. Been through a lot. Brave, perhaps a little foolish.
But she'd seen enough battles to know enough.
"Good," he replied warmly, "I'm Derg, the Overseer here."
She probably didn't care for what he said his rank was.

"derg." she echoes, the name a flat, heavy syllable that she is not entirely sure suits the man before her. still, something is off about the rank he offers; it is a high one, surely a leader, and yet she is fairly certain it is not his face that had previously held it. it a discrepancy that has her auds press toward him in intrigue. 

now that she considers it, the woman's scent and presence had been notably absent; she'd not seen any trace of her here. "donovan's partner." she clarifies, and then, "what happened to the last one?" 

Many wolves seemed to repeat his name as of late.
Perhaps times had changed, and strange names were uncommon -- rare even. Perhaps his name was outdated, or bland, or some shit.
He might as well change his name to peaches.

He fixed his glum expression with a very slight tilt to the corners of his lips.
Nemisis.
"Beheaded for treason," he replied easily. He'd been worried at the time, but he had contemplated and thought it best to leave her to rest. To be picked clean like Donovan wanted. She didn't like him, and touching her might be bad.
Alas, he didn't have to go to the pass, not for any real need, and staying away from the dark lump was easy enough.

"Come, a short spar would do good for your strength," and to test if she was worthy of higher ranks, of course. But she'd know that. She seemed bright.

an explanation was given, clipped and casual. she offers a contemplative hum, accepting this as sufficient. she's no doubts donovan had been the beheader, given his eagerness to describe his willingness to spill blood and rent flesh. she wonders if her rule might have been more effective had she attempted to behead Vanity instead of forcing her into submission when she'd attempted to challenge her for her rank. 

an offer, then, and despite the casual manner in which it was delivered she knew well that it would be a test. everything was, in some form or another, and rarely did she fail. a dip of her muzzle, that easy shift into a stance better benefitting the start of a spar. a beat, and she moves, a lunge for his muzzle. if successful, she will seize hold and wrench his head to the side; a test of his skills just as much as hers.

Danmage Dealt: 5
Current Health: 15/20

She didn't seem too fazed by the events he spoke of.
Well, he didn't go into detail but it was still a gruesome way to go.
He licked his lips, wondering what would make Hela squeamish.

He too dipped into his own defensive stance.
Flattening his ears, keeping his tail close, and he stood face on, making himself a slimmer target.
His back legs tensed, holding energy there waiting to push himself into an attack.

She went for his muzzle.
A change from the shoulder, but his spat with Renard made him wise recently of the likelihood of the move. He flicked his muzzle to the side, feeling her teeth rake over it, slipping out of her grip, but probably leaving some weals.

His light paws carried him sideways around her, never one to be stationary in a fight, to the left and he made to snap at her scruff.
He wasn't quickly darting and landing blows on her, she was injured and didn't want her to strain no matter how much she wanted his full attack.
It would just take longer if she placed a paw wrong and somehow snapped her leg again.

he uses a tactic unavailable to her, becoming small and quick and weasel-like, evading the crush of her jaws with his swift reaction. fangs clack together, but already she is reacting, turning to face him again even as she slips sideways. she's used to fighting those more similar in height and build than herself, and lacks the swiftness and agility of those smaller and leaner. 

still, despite her relative leanness in recent weeks, she must make use of the advantages she does have. she shoves forward, aiming to shoulder into him while her fangs snap at his face, her aim being to unbalance. the still-mending muscles in her shoulder twinge, but the pain is ignored.

Damage Dealt: 10
Current Health: 10/20

He was faster than her, seemingly obviously, but Derg didn't underestimate his opponents.
He was smaller than her, and had more muscle in his legs than his chest. Making his form a rather slim form compared to her broadness.

So, he could slip from her, but when she rounded on him, she had more might in her swing.
She hit him hard in the shoulder, teeth flying for his face like Renard's had. Like the blonde bitch's had.
He stumbled sideways, losing his footing, down on one knee.
And he leant back on his haunches and aimed to drive his head up into her chin.

his head meets the underside of her chin squarely, and the sharp movement that is her head jolting upward is enough to have darkness cloud her vision an instant. a grunt, quick and stifled, but she can not waste a moment. Derg is unbalanced, to pull away, to recover now would mean to lose this advantage. 

instead, she continues forward, clumsier, messier than she'd have liked, but still she moves. her head moves to attempt to catch at his scruff, squinting against the dark spots the linger in her vision, intent on driving him toward and onto the earth. her breath catches as the movement tugs at the healing muscles in her forward shoulder, but she does not, can not falter.

Her head jerks back, and he thinks he sees blood fly from her mouth.
Or perhaps it was just spots in his vision from the contact.
He had to give it do her, she had a pretty strong head.

He swerved to his left, eyes trying to follow her motion.
His teeth clacked by her face as she took his scruff and slammed him to the floor, knocking the wind from his lungs.
It seems she perhaps has more skill than him. Well, he does try to be passive for the most part.
But she was a warrior, and he decided that she'd won.
Worthy, even when injured.

He lay still, taking deep breaths between panting to cool down and to stop the crushing feeling on his chest.

metal blossoms from where her fangs had torn into the supple flesh of her cheek, and the sting is somehow more uncomfortable than the ache in her shoulder. the man falters beneath her weight, and even though pain lances suddenly through her hind limb as she pushes off of it she is made successful. 

she does not hesitate long above him, withdrawing when it is apparent their battle is over. she withdraws, breath coming quickly as gingerly she shifts, moving to alleviate the weight from her healing limbs. she waits there for the pain to subside, though her attention is on the male as he too recovers; expectant.

He was surprised as blood coated his tongue, earning her a quick release.
He wasn't expecting to actually make contact, but alas, it didn't stop her one bit.
Good.

She stepped back, and he brought himself up, panting lightly with a small grin.
"You're better than me," he complimented. She probably wouldn't be comforted by the fact, but he can fight and he will protect The Saints.
He brought himself to stand, shaking the orange from his fur.

After making sure the youthful warrior hadn't outdone herself, he was back onto his duties, looking for more trouble to sort.