Shadowwyn Moor Where Oh Where, Art Thou

the definition of home was a foriegn thing to her and perhaps it always would be just out of reach, but her first days in bearclaw valley were shrouded in an intense curtain of mixed emotions. packland had always been a coveted mystery to her.  nobody ever had the patience to open their metaphorical doors but the white man had been so eager to get her to follow, going so far as to bribe her with precious resource.

but she was not as naïve and unsophisticated as many assumed because of her lack of speech and understanding of the common tongue, so the second she understood his goal she was on board, following without hesitation.  maybe she should have given more opposition, and the thought had come to her that he wanted her for something.  he had claimed her.

so in turn, she had claimed him.

she followed her boy-she-had-no-name-for as he pushed past the borders of his land, keeping her distance, undetected.  on occasion she would stop to gnaw on the bones of the discarded and long-deceased carcasses that lay here and there under the snow.  he came close to the borders of another but careened around, so she veered around him, keeping him in earshot while remaining downwind.

she could smell his agitation when the breze carried it past and when she'd occasionally stray close enough she could see it, and as a warbling cry cut its way through the trees it festered inside her as well, ugly and black.

she ghosted close, staying crouched and low as she listened to the screaming thing.  an intrusive urge cuts through her focus —

your teeth are closing in around the tender, precious flesh of throat, meat breaking between your teeth as blood trickles down your jaws, your chest

— and her hackles raise as the fear-scent turns to anger in a subtle but distinguishable wash. 

though she does not understand the words being thrown, she can see the tension rising, too focused on each other to notice the crouching shadow, the nemesis.  she sees it before they do, and then it is white-on-red-on-white as the white-cloaked man rips into the smaller creature, stippling the snow with shining drops of blood.

the smell of iron fills her nostrils and she begins to salivate, her heart pumping warmth into her cheeks, tips of her ears burning against the winter air.  but he's got this handled so she waits, agitated as the lowly creature begins once more to let out that curdling wail.  the ugly, mean thing swells up in her again.

he was winning until he wasn't, and something in her brain goes pop!; unable to contain herself as her claim becomes outnumbered.

while the fourth soon embodied the persona of instinct, reigi was always a feral creature of instinct; every action she took, every decision she made was because of the id brain.  she reacted in turn, barreling towards him with her teeth bared, aiming towards his injured leg to fully incapacitate it at the hock.  

cripple, maim, kill!  her blood was singing as fangs met sweet tender flesh and she shook her head violently to and fro. dismember! disarm! destroy!