Ouroboros Spine Get My Bow And Arrow

The other was gone. The sound of paws drumming the earth did not end. She looked to Kodiak and nipped him companionably. The scent of her wolves was on the air; surely they were lurking, reinforcing. Tonravik herself slowed and stood stationary, glaring into the distance and licking the blood of Kivi from her muzzle. For another moment more she stood there before looking to Kodiak, appreciating his presence. Her aokkatti she knew was near, and would come to them. The Spine was a large place. Her head lifted and she howled another song of their triumph, their strength. Kivi had run, knowing her death was here. She was perpetually seconds from it, but Tonravik knew the wolf was stupid enough to return. Tonravik knew the other would die.


And she felt, as Kivi fled, that the other knew it, too. It mattered not who she ran with, who could defend such dimwitted behavior? And if they came against the wolves of the Spine, they, too, could meet their end. That simply meant they were as brainless as their subordinate, and the stupid were aligned with the weak. They did not survive, not for long. The mortality of Kivi had decreased to a dismal number. Her moronic behavior was met with a snarl that only now quieted.

A howl. Get rid of the rabbit. Rabbit? When there was no further sign that the other would return this instant, Tonravik turned to head toward Kroc and Iqniq. Her trot was a brisk one, and her anger was palpable. Kivi had lived this match, but Tonravik knew that the wolf was quick-footed and nimble. Returning back, the brown bear at her side, she looks to the tail the other held. She rumbled her approval, and then her sights turned to the rabbit.

Not cached, it was suspicious from the get-go; they did not leave things laying around like this. They were not so stupid. She moves nearer to it and sniffs. Had she not been so well-versed in this, given Tartok's penchant for poisons and dark herbal knowledge, she would not have thought anything amiss; but that scent, barely perceptible past the alluring scent of blood... It was too well done, too planned. Tonravik snarled. "Poison," came her vitriolic snarl. She bristles and her fangs are revealed. Coward. For it was not for her, but for any of the Spine. "Near, or far," she rumbles looking to the duo, "Kill her." It mattered not if the wolf just trespassed, now. Wherever the other was seen, she was to simply be killed on sight. If a wolf not so well-versed had come across this, it would cost them. She took the rabbit in her mouth, careful, and went to dispose of it.