Qeya River i've been searching for the daughter of the devil

There’s a moment before the cat lunges forward that’s quiet and Thuringwethil watches the way his mouth opens. Yellowed teeth from his silver profile, saliva breaking apart when he’s reached his limit and flying forward with the powerful roar that rattles her very bones. He moves and she’s still, toes digging into the snow to brace herself for the paw that swipes for her. The large paw hits her shoulder with a force that speeds up time, stumbling several steps and skidding face first into the snow and there’s a few seconds of blinding black.

She blinks a few times while a ringing in her ear forces her to squint her eyes, a bright flash of white and silver staggers her back onto her feet. Thuringwethil sways but she stands, lowering her head to even out her center of gravity and keep her on her feet. There’s a dull shout she can only hear out of one ear and she shifts her vision quickly—too quickly, her stomach reminds her—and the bolt of a wolf she barely recognizes barrel through the snow.