Porcupine Ridge For a mother, a brother and me

Sour words, animosity, a silent command. Her subconscious processed things quickly, understanding fully what was happening, and yet the message was not so quick to reach her conscious self. Her ears fell back, the quickest thing she could accomplish given the suddenness of the situation, but not a sound was made. Words would only fall on deaf ears and growls were so foreign and strange she couldn't quite form that of her own. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her vein as her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in—yet, it was not fear she felt or gave in to. Worry, perhaps, but only for her tribe members. The ones she'd asked for loyalty from, the very same she felt she needed to keep safe.

Perhaps he had hit her, she wasn't entirely sure. The moment she had been able to understand what was going on, she coiled back, playing the role of the defender. When it came to offense, she was hardly any more capable than the child, but she had been taught well in the art of defense. It was hard to say whether or not it would be enough—they were outmatched in every way—but she hoped to at least get by with it. Thus, she evaded, to the best of her abilities, interested only in keeping herself from being caught. The attack had awoken Draco from his slumber, lighting up her mind just as had been the case during her entire journey as a loner. While he brought forth the urge to seek out flesh, too, she was not given the chance nor did she even wish to carry out his voiceless demands.

Leo's voice attracted the yearling's attention, her muscles tensing as she took in the sight. In spite of her warning, the reminder of his lack of training, he had entered the battle. A part of her was furious over his actions, but a larger piece wanted to secure his safety. "Do not touch him!" With her words came an unfamiliar vibration of her cords, gaze narrowing in on the tawny male before quickly flicking back to her own assailant. He was the one in charge, the one capable of doing that which she could not. Knowing she could not win a duel against him, Asterr seemed to fold in on herself, body lowering in surrender. While she had gotten on another's case only days prior for disregarding her position, now she was voluntarily submitting to another in the hopes that the attack might then be halted. In the end, the life of her members would always take precedence over herself.