Once more, she was faced with the stubbornness of the Creek. Thrice now and angered in one form or another. Each time, she felt her faith in the creek-dwellers slipping. What hope that was fostered between herself and Njal dissolved a little more by the corrosive displays. She was growing tired… so very tired of these hostilities, even if it was by her own maw this instance was borne. But such was becoming the normal state of things. And as the woman was raised to; she was gradually adapting to it.
Darkened lids narrowed over their bi-colored treasures, defending them upon the inevitable reach of aggression. Yet still they watched as an ember paw fixed itself upon the carcass- the same dreaded possession that had taken the dark male. This sight gave her no hope, and thus she relinquished all sense of caring and sympathy. If they were to fight over desiccated flesh, so be it.
Her paws were heavy and as sound as thunder preceding a storm. Yet her roll from the border ceased just shy of both the female and the coveted meat. She offered but a moment of reconsideration, then boldly advanced brandishing the impressive bulk by her guarded shoulders rolled forward. Her lips stretched further back as her gaping maw snapped the air between them, a promise of pain as the quaking frame surged purposefully towards both Creek wolf and slain meat. And again she snapped violently the hair’s breadth between them, this time with the intention of grabbing the scarred muzzle. |