Golden Glade Be my mirror, my sword and shield

Ayla's eyes opened slowly, slowly regaining consciousness. She did not move her throbbing body yet, but simply assessed the situation and her own wounds. Her shoulder, her tail, that was where the hurt was coming from. There was Heartha, standing petrified in the distance, there was the king, facing off against the bear, and there was another, who she did not know, close by him. Blood. She could see it, staining all their pelts in different ways. The bear, a gaping wound on it's throat, Aspen attacking it. Couldn't they see? They had but to drive it off, it was dying, anyways. In her slightly delusional state, perhaps caused by the alarming amounts of blood pumping out of her body, Ayla thought for a moment the bear seemed to shrink, then grow. Dizziness brought nausea to the femme as she struggled to rise, lurching to her feet with an alarming movement.

This had been all her fault, hadn't it. Had she been paying attention, she could have easily avoided the bear, saved her packmates the bloodloss and injury they would have to endure. So she staggered toward her king, gaze fixed on the bear. She would end this thing, the creature that dared attack her comrades. For it was in these situations that another side of the dreamy girl presented itself, one bold and perhaps a little reckless. She lunged at the black bear; well, tried to, but her momentum lacked quite a bit. Nevertheless, it certainly took notice of her, and turned it's attention to the silver femme. 

Ayla watched the bear for a moment, it was almost dead. She could see it, in the way blood flowed from it's torn throat, the way it's eyes seemed faded, glazed. But the bear would be damned should it not go down fighting. Determined to protect the king who had been drawn into the situation completely out of her own foolishness, she lunged. For a brief, brief second, her sluggish leap resulted in a grip, of fangs on throat, but it was far from a major artery. And then a thundering blow, one that dislodged her from the throat (though not without tearing flesh) and sent her sprawling in a heap on the ground. A new scar split her underbelly, thankfully shallow or the ill-placed blow would have sent her insides spilling out. 

But the bear was not quite finished, it seemed, and in it's anger gave the final roar it ever would, and aimed a final, heavy blow toward the prone figure, lapsed into unconscientious once more. It would be up to her packmates, the bold king, the queen, the unknown woman and the fear-stricken Heartha should the blow land.