Herbalists' Cache wind lance

sun eater was tireless in the pursuit of what he felt to be justice.

and he hunted @Gjalla next, undeterred on slinking prowl along her latest trail. as with black hawk, the warrior remained utterly silent.

for her there was no such blood-tie holding him. 

if he found her, it would be an attack, teeth reaching to score shoulders, face, flank.

and if he did not, sun eater would continue to hunt.

the stars above are eternal. gjalla has always found comfort in that. they blink against the long dark, scattered in an endless stretch of night, and she wonders how many of them are family. how many are watching her now, whispering into the void. she has always listened for them. for their voices. for their warnings. 

tonight, there is only silence. she does not mind it—she needs no warning to know who would come for her. he had already sent away blackfell.

she stands at the cliff’s edge, the wind howling through her thick coat, whipping at her face and biting at her skin. it stings. she welcomes it, winter’s great embrace before the full-fledged dawning of spring.

her breath left her in slow, visible clouds, eyes fixated on the horizon where frost met sky, and she spoke in the old tongue—raw and fervent, a plea from the very marrow of her bones. she does not beg—she never begs—but she asks.

"gods, i know you hear me. bear witness to my blood. give me the spine to stand where i must, the teeth to fight where i cannot. temper my spirit. let me burn bright enough that my shadow reaches those I love. let my heat outlast my body. stand with me, as i stand with you."

if there is retribution to come, let her bear it with honor. let her fight with the fury of those who came before her, with the wrath of the gods. let them see her as she is.

the wind shifts. old snow crunches beneath footfall.

she is not alone, and she is not afraid.

sun eater swept down upon gjalla without hesitation. he had decided that she would go with blackfell that day; only the birth of his children and star eater's request had forestalled his retribution. 

now were the young ones here. sun eater only believed she needed gjalla, but her mate did not agree. she had stood with a man who negated peace and so she must go.

his teeth flashed again, his figure driven toward her flank where a hard elbow hoped to jut. without the corruptive influence of these two, he hoped black hawk would return to herself.

she knew the consequence if she did not.

bullish, harsh-breathed, he meant to rain his fury, and if she gave equal clash, it would only solidify his choice.

coward.

the thought sears through her like wildfire, and gjalla does not flinch when sun eater barrels for her. her head does not turn, her gaze does not tear from the sky until the very last moment. she waits, lets him close the distance—and only when his teeth flash does she lunge.

his shoulder collides hard into her flank, knocking her sideways, but she uses the force to turn into him. teeth unsheathed, jaws cracking wide like a beast unbound as she slams into his side. flesh meets flesh, bone meets bone. her snarl is thunderous, guttural—how dare you.

her teeth find purchase at the meat of his shoulder, and she bites down, hard. it is not the shallow warning bite of subordinates—it is the claim of a wolf who would kill if she must. the taste of his blood stains her tongue and she does not release.

her heart hammers. her breath is fire. she does not relent. if he meant to punish her, to make her pay, then he would bleed for it.

honed and sinewed body provided an egalitarian approach to a conflict that had not come with black hawk. but this time his aim was different; it was to drive out, to exile. her fangs cut into his shoulder; he drove it against her teeth with driving force, cramming shoulder into her jaws with intent hard enough to strain the corners of her mouth.

connected there, she is close, and his own jaws bound them closer, seeking through the thick fur for the muscle along the side of her neck, head hewing to and fro to rip down past skin. a dangerous bite, traded for his own shoulder.

slowly he began to wrench away, slow, steadily, his skin and muscle and fur lifting, lifting; tearing; the pain was fierce, a clawing fire down to marrow, and yet it had not yet come close to the agony suffered by moonwolves.

blood dripped in rivulets between gjalla's teeth; his teeth were painted in her own.

sun eater was silent save for breaths to adjust.

his shoulder drives against her teeth with a brutal force, straining her jaw. it aches like hell and she lets it—she would grind her bones to dust before she yielded to him. 

she feels his teeth against her neck, sinking, tearing, and fuck if it doesn’t white out her vision for a brief moment. pain blooms like wildfire, but she twists, hard, forcing her body against his, pushes into him. she does not focus on the bite. does not think about the heat of his blood in her mouth or the sharp, slicing ache in her throat— 

she focuses on the cliff.

yes, the mountain! make him think about his footing. about the thousand-foot drop beneath him. anything but her, if she could make it so.

so she shoves. viciously, with every ounce of power in her frame. her teeth still clamp to his shoulder, but she drives him—back, back, back—until his back legs are flirting dangerously with the edge.

her snarls are no longer just angry. they are
calculated.

she drags, pushes, pulls. lose your balance, bastard. she can feel him strain against her, digging in, but she does not stop. blood seeps between her teeth. his or hers, she doesn't care. His grip on her neck wrenches, but she grits through it and drives him still, forcing him to the edge. 

fall. let go or fall.

she would win each grapple at the cost of her own fur and flesh torn to nothing. ribbons of skin peeled from her throat to scarify bare forever. his teeth worked inexorably toward the straining windpipe, the wide artery that ran beneath her chin. claws clutched to earth.

she shoved.

he bit.

her blood thickened around his posted bite. stag-legs locked; he moved no further, harrowing the split shoulder inside her mouth with force to maim both of them, to split her teeth.

his jaws closed around her vital pulse; sun eater pressed down in a vice, forcing her backward, yet holding them still there at the precipice.

a warrior's death for them both then, a glory for the caribou spirits.

again he hewed his blade-grip to and fro, choking, shoving, tail revolved and stiff behind him.

sun eater would not plummet alone.

gjalla’s vision darkens at the edges. he means to kill her. she knows this, but now it feels real.

his teeth grip like a vice, grinding into her throat, and she knows—knows—he is aiming for the artery beneath her chin. the sharp tear of flesh blooms into agony, the hot gush of her own blood slicking his teeth, and she feels her air snap under the force of his bite. stars dance in her vision. fuck, fuck, fuck—

her claws scrape, scramble, drive. she feels flesh split beneath her teeth, and she wrenches it, yanking hard enough to split sinew and tear him away from her throat. her mouth is full of blood, his and hers, and still she does not let go.

her strategy changes. fast. the cliff’s edge yawns behind him, and it is her only advantage. if she can’t overpower him, she will force him to unhinge his jaw. to focus on his footing. to save himself.

she drives into him, shoulder-first, forcing his weight further toward the crumbling edge. her throat screams in his hold, the pressure turning her vision white—but her legs do not stop. push. push. make him fucking panic.

another shove. His back leg scrapes open air, his weight tipping dangerously. gjalla feels his breath stutter—finally.

she can’t hardly feel her throat—only the dead, searing throb of veins crushed under his teeth. her vision is blacking. her back legs shake. but she feels his weight teeter, feels his focus shift—and that is her moment.

in one last burst of unhinged, feral desperation, gjalla thrusts her chest forward, heaving his body back one last time

—and she feels his jaw slip. just slightly. just enough.

her teeth snap free of his shoulder, her blood-caked face lurching up with a gasping, wet snarl. her throat rips when she pulls from him, but she does not care.

her chest rams into his, forcing him to brace his legs or fall. his jaw loosens, and she is free. while he steadies himself, she is pivoting, running for the path back down. she would be back.

exit gjalla!

;;;<3

he prepared himself for death. agony had paled to grey; bloodloss crowded sun eater with mist. in his teeth, gjalla fought for her life as he had wanted, repelling him with each lifebound wrench of her teeth. his tongue pressed once, twice to the flare of her pulse.

they trembled with mutual effort, collaborating in feral clash with flared teeth and eyes that burnt the sky to cinders.

her gambit was true. he caught himself and in that shift of focus, gjalla tore aside.

sun eater tottered there, drawing gasps of air that did little to assuage his anguish, and thought it meant tearing the exposed muscle further, he chased.

he ran, blinded with adrenaline; he ran, marred with a horrid rage. not far. and not long. enough to spill his blood a long trail in the snow, to shout, "you marked, gjalla! marked for death!" 

head down, he stood in the plains, sides heaving, head filled with clouds; on automated yield, sun eater turned and began to stumble clumsily back toward the snow shelter blurred in the distance.