Hideaway Strath I got friends in low places

Tags: @Kynareth Deagon 
Date: late evening of this thread 

Sasha's blood had since started to dry on Nyra's fur. And though the Paladin was no beauty queen, she felt like bathing to get as much blood out of her stark-white fur as possible. 

And so, she did, spending maybe an hour or so cleaning the red from her pelt and letting it wash away with the current of the river. 

Bath complete, the mammoth Shieldmaiden pulled herself back to the grass, giving herself a thorough shake. 
Then, she tensed. 

Nyra was not alone.

Roll Here!

Kyn is on a mission this afternoon and it’s one for blood. He obviously won’t kill or maim his Paladin too bad, but god damn, does she need to learn not to almost kill another pack mate. Especially when it’s his little slut Sasha. So what if she’s his bitch of an ex-wife? He owns her and he will until she dies. Which will be soon, but not soon enough.

So he stalks out from the tree line, far enough away to see him coming. He’s languid with his movement, his expression neutral — he doesn’t dare betray his motives until he gets closer. Until he decides, why would he do that? So he starts into a trot, browsing furrowing with hardly contained anger and surely at this point Nyra would figure out something is off.

“Nyra.” He growls, boxy muzzle wrinkled and dangerous fangs showing with ill intent. He’s here to teach a lesson to one of his most insubordinate yet subordinate wolves he’s ever had the grace of working with. Well, here anyway.

He doesn’t say much else besides the growling mumble of her name on his lips. The next thing she would know is the powerful of his chest smacking into her shoulder and the feel of teeth on her nape. The wrapping of thick limbs around her upper half she would have to use the training he gave her to fight back.

She knows that scent and his face all too well. 
And she is no stranger to the gleam of rage in his eyes. 
He growls her name and charges, blowing her over with enough force it almost knocks the air from her lungs. Yet, she will not surrender even as his thick forelimbs try to cage her in as his teeth meet her nape. 
Not this time.
With a roar from the bowels of tartarus itself, Nyra is lucky enough to have positioned herself in such a way that as her Grandmaster came for her upper half - she clamped onto his neck as hard as she could and with all the force of her equally thick, powerful limbs - flipped him, sending him sailing over her, where he would hopefully slap his spine into the ground. 

One of his own moves, from a spar they had done back in the canyon. 

Quickly, Nyra was back on her feet, facing him with fangs fully bared and hackles raised.

Nyra is good and her size makes her an even formidable opponent. Any wolf smaller than him would never be able to flip him like that, unless they used a tactic. Yet here she is, pushing back against him, snatching up the brindle of his own neck and slamming him to the ground.

His fur dampens as their bodies clash and his hind legs come up to kick at her soft belly. The power behind them unreal and eventually she’s rolling off of him, bracing herself for another attack. Smart because as soon as she gives him an inch, he takes a mile. Not even having enough time to breath in between their battle before he’s on her again. He’s relentless and pissed, the thrill of the battle only heightening his adrenaline and desire for blood.

So he sweeps down to the left and then hops up, snatching the skin between her shoulder blades. Much less mailable and would surely tear skin. Planting strong limbs and yanking back in quick short bursts like dogs playing tug of war. He keeps reminding himself don’t kill her.

As the brawl continues and he goes for between her shoulders, she risks more damage to herself for the open opportunity to curl inward and rip herself out of his grip as she goes straight for his face. His cheeks, his eyes, anything she can grab and make hurt, she will as she stays on top of him, refusing to give him space a second time as she slashes into his flesh with her own wicked fangs.

A sickening growl erupts from his maw as the young girl whips around to face him. His grip on her silky, white fur menacing and dangerous — deadly. Though when her teeth connect with his face and head he growls a second time, but worse this time as pain is laced with her moment. Her teeth slash two, twin gashes through the meat of his forehead, narrowly avoiding the surface of his eye and down his cheek. All the while her bottom jaws mercilessly cut through the underside of his throat and jaw.

Blood is quick to turn white fur red, as does the wound on his face. He’s not stupid, he won’t sit idly and let her slice up his face. So as her second snap lashes out at him, he pulls back but she still rakes down the side of his muzzle. Cutting over wrinkled, whiskered lips and he rips himself back. Launching himself towards the back of her body, surely she’d already be following him. 
If she does he’d lunge back towards her, hopping about a foot in the air and landing on top of her. They’d go crashing down to the ground.
If not he’d back away and go on the defensive himself, blood dripping from his wounds like a horror movie. A wild look in his molting hot, lava eyes.

His face was bloody and as he backed off, Nyra didn't follow. Instead, letting him take the defensive -barely- before she roared again, an equal heat in her own golden hues as she charged Donovan, biting maliciously into his shoulder as she heaved to knock him backward, locking her teeth deep into his flesh, in such a way that regardless of his actions, he'd lose a large chunk of his own flesh at the worst - a nasty scar for eternity at the best. 

Even though he will be the victor of this brawl, she will not, ever, go down without one hell of a fight.

Temporarily moving back and going on the defense doesn’t work for long — or at all for that matter. He’s only backed up about two steps before Nyra is on him again. Taking a lower blow for his shoulder and he feels her teeth sink in, grab, and rip. A solid chunk of skin going with it. The wound will be about a half an inch deep with a width of two inches. She got him good for sure and he will not tolerate it. She’s fucking over.

After the stumble and the chunk of flesh being ripped from his shoulder, he ticks his chin to his chest and twists his head snatching up the back of the Paladin’s head. The first few yanks don’t do it and at this point he’s just chewing on her ears and head. Causing horrible puncture wounds that have a chance to pierce her cranium, but he doesn’t. With a final step back and the planting of his feet firmly on the ground he lets go and grabs once more, a push and a yank and she’s begging flung from his shoulder. 

He can feel the puncture wounds and tear there pouring blood and with the amounts of adrenaline he has, he’s able to sling her to the ground. He doesn’t even give her the idea of being able to get up and fight back. Jumping atop her and lowering his body into a wide firm stance he grabs her throat mercilessly. His muscles ripples beneath a coat as he puts his whole body into shaking her. Her body flailing between his thick limbs that cage her in. 

The blood from his shoulder and head drip mercilessly over the two of them. It looks like an absolute bloodbath. But after a fair few seconds of him shaking her he feels her stop struggling. To which he shakes her a good couples times after he realizes this but then it finally clicks. 

Did he just fucking kill her? He asks himself, already wide and shaking eyes looking at her blooded, wet, form as he drop her and pulls back. He’s panting heavily, black tongue hanging all the way out of his bloody mouth. Heaving in lungfuls of air he just stands there for a minute. Literally a minute. The horrid sounds of a dog fight ceasing to deathly silence. 

“Nyra.” He says with less bite, but more stern concern. He slaps a heavy paw to her face — once, twice, and finally she’s awake. He sighs, looking at her for a second before moving off of her. Allowing her up he looks to her. Still panting he’s able to close his mouth long enough to produce words. “I thought I killed you.” He huffs a small laugh. “Worried me for a second.”

They are ferocious to each other. Massive, mountainous powerhouses, laced with stone-hard muscle and the strength of gods. 
If any were watching, it may have been a mystery as to why or how the Earth and sky were in no way disrupted by the displays of power made during this fight. 
Kynareth Deagon has met his match, and Nyra has met hers. 
Both, with each other. Both, absolute and formidable beasts. 

Before Nyra knows it however, Kynareth is biting and ripping into her, slugging her to the ground with a killer's grip on her throat. Her vision goes black for a while, and suddenly her Grandmaster is hitting her awake with a paw. She whines with pain, quietly, as he moves off of her, gives her room. 

The Paladin stiffly, slowly, rolls onto her side as he speaks, confesses he thought he had killed her, that she had worried him. With an exhausted sigh, Nyra eases herself back onto her own set of big, heavy paws "I, like you, Donovan..." She glances to him with her signature golden inferno alight in her hues, a light smirk on her maw despite her heavy panting "Am not easy to kill." Her smirk falls as she approaches him again, offering an apologetic lick for scaring him like she did. 
"Though I won't deny that I deserved to get my ass kicked." She laughed, "I assume this is the consequence of my ragdolling the golden laced wolfdog this morning?" The question asked just now, is asked with seriousness instead of laughter. She offers no excuse to justify her actions, though if he wanted or was curious, she would explain; "At the execution, she turned on Leigh, with what looked like, to me, the intent to kill her. I did nothing physical then, save for stand between them." A sigh, "I felt justified in ragdolling the gold-laced wolfdog because I don't want her to hurt anyone within our ranks. I fully believe Leigh can take care of herself, but when we killed that girl, she was clearly in a vulnerable place in her mind. I just want to keep everyone safe..." All of her words and intent were completely genuine. Though Nyra felt very little remorse for ragdolling Sasha, she did feel remorse for acting in a way that most likely, as a whole, wasn't beneficial for all the Saints. And for disappointing her Grandmaster. As she spoke, she turned her gaze away and slanted her ears backward a bit.

Nyra wakes up and stands up soon after. Thank god. He thinks for a moment even though he doesn’t believe in any higher power. She’s standing easily enough and Kynareth’s smile grows wider as she sprouts her own. She’s right; she definitely isn’t easy to kill and that’s a cold hard fact. The bruises, puncture wounds, scraps, slices, missing flesh on his body proves this. If they were to truly go head to head, it would no doubt be to the death. 

So as she approaches and a bloody tongue apologetically laps at his muzzle and he can’t help the breathy chuckle that escapes his maw. He offers a few lazy licks back before she pulls away. 

“Yeah, it is.” He answers her question, but listens intently when she explains why. At that he sighs heavily and his golden orbs turn to look around suspiciously. “I would kill her myself if she tried killing Leigh. And we’d make it worse than the Aya’s.” He admits savagely — horribly serious too. “I’m not pissed off that you throttled Sasha. That fucking cunt killed my entire pack and if someone else killed her that wasn’t me I’d freak the fuck out.” He leans in closer to Nyra. “She was the one that blew the whistle on my pack and I want to see her suffer, but by my hands only. I’m going to make her suffer, Nyra.” He growls the last bit. “Not yet though. You’ll know when.” He adds ominously.

As her Grandmaster explains, her interest peaks and it shows in the perking of her ears, the intent stare she gives him as she drinks in his words. 
"Oh?" Nyra's curiosity fully obvious now, an evil interest sparkling in the gold inferno that was her eyes, "What's your plan? Perhaps I can be of service to it?" The ''Eva Green as Penny Dreadful'' lilt returning to her voice, the snowy behemoth tilts her head slightly, pulling her ear closer to his maw so he may, if he wishes, tell her the juicy details. She will not tell, whether or not he commands her silence so, she will keep it a secret, and she knows that he himself knows this fact.

At Nyra’s morbid curiosity he can’t help back chuckle quietly a knowing smirk pulling his lips upwards. “I’ll tell you, but if you say anything I’ll finish what we started today.” He hums back, words malicious, but tone jesting. Though his gaze is what will tell her that he’s serious. 

So he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the lobe of her ear. His words are articulate and keen as he explains his plan on a few simple words. His plan is brutal and unforgiving and he doesn’t even care. After he utters the last word be pulls back slightly to look at her. A vicious grin still living happily upon his face as he awaits her reaction.

She nods in a soundless vow of silence, listening as he tells her the nitty gritty details and the plan he has in place. 
When he pulls back to look at her, the Shieldmaiden grins in return to her Lord, "Nothing will be said from my mouth." Nyra promised with a soft voice, bowing her head and her upper torso a bit

Kynareth’s smile reaches his eyes now and he looks upon his Paladin with easy pride. “Good.” He hums to her voice bordering on malicious. 

Then he stands tall once more and his smile becomes more sly if anything and his eyes are half mast. “Let’s go find Dove now. I’m getting a bit light headed.” He chuckles and begins walking off towards the last place he saw her expecting Nyra to follow.