Hushed Willows Our Eyes

Reyson had delivered messages, had run to and fro. Had spoken in jest and seriousness, and now he was exhausted. Today was more exhausting than any march he had ever been forced upon and with doddering steps, and weak limbs, he tried to make it to Mereo, but he couldn't.

He finally curled himself among the willows, and was about to fall asleep. Remembering with a start there were coyotes, but he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He hoped they wouldn't set upon him while he slept.

It wasn't often that he had to give into sleep, but he was more emotionally exhausted than physically and that had done a number on both his psyche and his body. So with trembling legs, eh curled his tail around his nose, and closed the ice blues. Slipping peacefully into sleep.

The girl had been traveling for weeks; endless days of open air and brand new faces, and a constant undercurrent of uncertainty to each day. Would she find a meal today? Would she find shelter? Would the next stranger she met be friendly, or turn teeth to her?
She loved it. Even now, even as she thinned from the build of a healthy pack wolf to that of a rangy loner and the scabs under her fur healed to scars. Hard living didn't bother her, contrary to her father's insistence. She was happy like this, happier than she could ever remember being, and she had no intention of turning back. The danger only added more excitement - and it seemed that her life was determined to be as exciting as possible now that she had escaped.
Hardly a night had passed without incident since her great escape, and tonight was no different. The Wanderer took in the scents of the forest as she moved under the willows, noting wolves and coyotes and prey scents amid the greenery. The trails left by coyotes were the most recent. The girl grimaced and turned away, making her path elsewhere, but it was too late for such avoidance. They had caught her scent, too.
A pair of them, she deduced as they pursued her through the willow forest at a frenetic trot. Sufficient numbers to be deadly to her, were she were younger or weaker. The Wanderer led them on for a time, hyperfocused on the pair of rivals and unaware of the sleeping wolf just ahead when she finally stopped and turned to face them. A snarl tore itself from her throat as the coyotes lunged for her, alternating their attacks with harelike swiftness as if to confuse her. Her mind was not so easily muddled. Within moments she caught hold of one of the irksome pair, jaws locking around its nape with harsh finality. Even in the heat of the moment, they all knew what this meant. For an instant time seemed to slow.
And then the air filled with the shrieks of the desperate and dying. The Wanderer made swift work of her foe, even as its companion set upon her in rage and grief. She would bear the scars of that grief for the rest of her life; this was her lot, now and forever.
She loved it.

Screeching pulled him from sleep and upon waking he saw a waif being attacked by a coyote as she killed another.

With swiftness only born from years of battle and hunting. he slammed into teh other coyote and with terrible harsh jaws. He clamped down upon the nape of the creature and bore it to the ground.

Paws pushed it's face into the dirt as he quickly ripped it's throat from it's body, and growled again. The other had her own prey, dead and dying and he would not step into to take her kill, but he would wait and see if she was alright.