Phantom Hollow [m] You know it's not the same as it was

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Violence, blood

The flash of gilded feathers woke her from a vivid dream; Reverie was roused with the taste of the last kiss she'd given Dusty Rose still on her lips. It was a sweet and fleeting memory, gone by the time she rose to her feet. Something was wrong.

Featherlight steps took her away from her companion, impulsive in her worry. She wasn't even sure what she expected to find. The cat they'd heard shrieking before? Yet it wasn't a feline scent on the wind; it was something familiar, something she'd hoped wouldn't follow her here. Not so soon.

Truth be told she scarcely felt the blow from behind. Her whole body jerked with the force of it — and for a moment that was all she knew. That first scream wasn't fear; only instinct and agony, cut short by her shock and by the snap of her teeth as her senses returned to her. She caught flesh and fur, tasted blood. The world narrowed to their shadows, to ragged breaths and the sick wet sound of their struggle.

It's so quiet, she marveled in a wild haze, not once thinking to call for @Hunst.

Hunst jolted awake the moment he sensed her absence, his skin prickling with the cold emptiness she left behind. He reached for her, but only met the cold, unyielding ground, and a sharp twist of unease. Her scent lingered faintly, and in an instant, he was up, muscles tense, eyes narrowing into the dark, listening.

Then he heard her cry.

He surged forward, paws crashing through the night as his heart raced in sync with each stride. Every part of him screamed to reach her. He could feel it now—the foreign presence, prickling against his instincts. They were not alone, and every ounce of his body felt ready to tear through anything that threatened her.

When he broke into the clearing, his heart skipped a beat at the sight. She was there, entangled with not one but three attackers, their shapes lurking like shadows around her. Assassins, he knew in an instant, sent to hunt her down.

With a snarl that ripped through the night, he launched himself forward, a streak of fury and muscle, his jaws parting in a merciless snap that found the leg of one wolf. He twisted with brutal force, feeling bone crunch beneath his teeth, a clean break that sent the wolf sprawling with a shriek of pain. Hunst barely registered it, already whirling toward the next, his whole body a fortress between them and Reverie.

Get back! he barked to her, his voice low and commanding, but his eyes burned with worry as they met hers for the briefest of moments. He wouldn’t let them touch her—not again.

The first time Reverie had taken a life, it had all been a haze; a fury unlike any other when she'd come upon the wolf who'd acted as @Dusty Rose's jailer in Sunfil. Even now she scarcely remembered the bloody act — but she remembered the faces of her companions in the aftermath, the way they'd looked at her. She remembered the sticky feeling of her face and throat soaked in blood, the thick metallic taste of it.

The second time Reverie took a life, it was all too real. She didn't mean to — not really. All at once Hunst was there, and while he threw one wolf to the ground, Reverie jerked away from the others with an aimless snap of her teeth.

She caught a pale wolf's shoulder; the man whipped around, slamming her into the trunk of a tree at her back, and in desperation she snapped again. This time she caught his throat. Her mouth filled with blood. He staggered away, soundless as Hunst's command cracked through the air.

Reverie tried to listen — she did. Her fur felt wet. Her face felt numb. She stumbled and found herself sitting, sinking, and realized belatedly that her head was bleeding. It was bleeding quite a lot.

Hunst fought with a savagery honed by years of battle, his massive form colliding with his foes, each strike delivered with unyielding precision. His snarls cut through the chaos as he threw one wolf down, his sharp gaze tracking each movement around him. He kept one eye on Reverie, watching as she fought with surprising intensity, her desperation carrying her forward even as her strikes grew reckless.

Then, suddenly, he saw her teeth connect with the throat of the pale wolf—a clean, brutal strike. For a moment, Hunst froze, his mind reeling at the sight of Reverie’s blood-soaked muzzle. She had taken a life, her inexperience giving way to raw, instinctual power. He felt a surge of pride mixed with shock, a fierce respect for her resolve even as he noted the dazed look in her eyes, the blood dripping from a wound on her head.

But there was no time to pause. Hunst turned back to the last wolf standing, his teeth bared as he moved forward, a low growl building in his throat. He lunged, preparing to finish the fight, his powerful jaws snapping forward—

I think things have been vague enough for me to say Seastorm is the one whose leg Hunst broke...lmk if that should be changed tho!

Failure was death.

Storm Rising on the Eastern Sea had grown with these words etched into her bones. To fail was to die — if not by her enemies then by those who had crafted her into the weapon she was. Nothing more than a tool; the dagger, but never the hand wielding it.

She was faithful to the end.

Even as the warrior turned on her, even when his gold-furred ward darted between them quicker than the eye could track. Seastorm lunged, but the gilded wolf was faster, stronger than the assassin had expected. Pinned and abruptly helpless, hindered by her useless foreleg, she writhed and snapped nonetheless. She would not go meekly to her death.

In a moment Reverie had made her decision; she didn't bother to wonder at the rush of adrenaline which pushed her forward, nor the way it held her steady even as the earth rocked beneath her feet. Hunst meant to kill the girl — and that was all she was, truly, just a girl. Just a yearling, not so far off from her own daughters.

Reverie held her there, breathing hard as her eyes found Hunst.

Look - look at her, Even now her voice was soft, but breaking as the moment began to slip away from her. Exhaustion reared its head, demanding, but she pressed on. She's a child.

Hunst’s lips curled back in a snarl, raw and venomous, as Reverie stepped between him and the girl. His muscles tensed, the rage in his chest like a storm barely contained. His eyes, cold and glinting with fury, locked onto Reverie’s, searching for any sign of weakness in her resolve.

Child? His voice was a growl, low and dangerous, the sound reverberating like distant thunder. She’s no child if she’s ready to throw her life away. He shifted his weight, testing Reverie’s hold as he prepared to push past her, his gaze snapping to the trembling girl behind her.

You think you get to play with life and death like it’s a game? he spat, his words laced with disgust as he glared at the girl over Reverie’s shoulder. What do you know about what it means to survive? To claw your way through the dirt for every breath? And here you are, ready to toss it all away.

His breath came ragged, his teeth bared as he pressed closer to Reverie, his towering frame rigid with the force of his fury. She’s lucky you’re here, he snarled, his voice quieter now, colder. Because I’d have made sure she learned the value of what she’s wasting.

Hunst’s nostrils flared as he took a deliberate step back, though his eyes didn’t leave the girl. Next time, he warned, his voice like steel, she won’t be so lucky. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before turning sharply, his tail lashing behind him as he moved away, the air still heavy with the weight of his wrath.