Heron Lake Plateau I spat on you when you called me a dog

As he got up, she scrambled up to her feet, grimacing as a pain ripped up through her shoulder; she’d have a bruise there, no doubt. She matched his glare with one of her own, tail already lashing behind her like a seriously peeved feline. “Looked like you were running, not hunting,” she stated, lips twitching with the threat of a snarl—how dare he treat her so rudely! He continued to speak and she tried to interject, but soon found herself jerking her head back to avoid the snap of his jaws, and then yelping as his shoulder made contact with her own. “You—you fucking—” she couldn’t get out a full sentence, retreating several steps to inspect herself; there were no visible wounds, the issue apparently an internal one.

He crashed into her, he hurt her—and he had the audacity to then try and command her?!

No.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she stated, just as stubborn as usual. “You will not”—she took a step towards him, hiding the temporary limp in her gait the best that she could—“tell me what to do.” Had they not gone over this before? Why couldn’t he get this through his head? “You listen to me—you’re supposed to listen to me.” Why couldn’t he be like the pale boy from the shore? “Why—” she tried to advance towards him, only to slow to a stop and just stand there, defeated and physically hurt, among other things. “Why won’t you listen? You’re—you’re a boy, you’re supposed to listen! Why won’t you? Aren’t I—” good enough? she wanted to finish with, but couldn’t find it within herself to do so. She’d always heard tales of how charming the Gorgon women before her were, of how they could bend any male’s will—so why couldn’t she? What was wrong with her, what had happened, that she couldn’t even get a partially blind coward to obey her?

Perhaps she wasn’t meant to carry her family’s name.