Bitterroot Valley A Mix of Lives comes with Curses and Blessings

He tries to get his peace in before her shoulder connects with him, teeth lashing out for the thin skin behind his shoulder, where his flank begins. Her shoulder dips enough, shoves him back, and he flies awkwardly onto his back. Her shoulder aches from the impact but she doesn't give herself a chance to assess what she might have hurt in the process. She advances on him instead, watching him flounder for his footing.

"No, but your leader did," she slithers in, head low as she approaches with no real speed behind her movements. Careful, calculating the way he moves and where she lets her feet land. Before he's able to get enough ground, she growls again and uses a brute jutting of her chest and shoulder to knock him back down, a foot pressing down on the curve of his chest where his front leg meets. He's stained the melting snow with his blood already and tufts of her and red life clotting in the corners of her lips.

Thuringwethil uses her weight on the one limb, slate eyes holding him with a glare. Thoughts of Gyda and whatever game she wants to pull far from her mind, fire licking at the edges of her mind. The smoke clouding her thoughts are yet to cease but her blood thirst doesn't rear its ugly head again. "Phoenix wolves don't hunt above the river," she seethes, implanting the knowledge Reek failed for his wolves. She feels sorry for them, the fate they could walk into when the dark male had given her an underlying threat about their approach. "Dragon wolves don't hunt below. Give a message to Reek for me," she commands the weaker canine, using her paw to push up the curve of his sternum, into his neck.