Big Salmon Lake fallen so far, like a shooting star

SAME cos i just flat out suck @ it as im sure u have now noticeD

Tonravik often gave way to her impulses. It brought her many victories, but half the cause of that victory was the impulse itself that provoked a reaction. She was wary of Vehiron; she would not underestimate him. Should he snap, she would do so in kind (a true bully of a wolf, Tonravik) but let off; this was not her land, and she would remember that she preferred space anyway, when it came to strangers. xxxxxxOf course, by then, Tonravik knew she would test him one way or the other; and he reacted as she had hoped, as any wolf of Tartok might to prove their merit, their name (or the one they aspired to achieve). Tonravik noted his defenses, looking for any one that wasn't set as her eyes narrowed into protective slits. She spreads her weight to all fours, so that it is equally distributed and not at all favoring one portion of her; and her jaw parts, only slightly, to protect what her lowering chin cannot (it brushes against her throat, then). Her own ears melt to her head, not in a submissive manner but to protect them from searching teeth; she did not know if he was the desperate sort, the kind that latched onto anything he could grab. If he was Tartok, she doubted it; he would know better than to draw blood with the intent for her to bleed (she thought this with definitiveness, as he knew her own mother personally). Her shoulders roll forward so that any excess fat she harbors protects her nape, and as he forewarns her with a snarl, she too is moving. xxxxxxxTonravik attempts to keep herself square with him, face-to-face; she does not have speed on her side, given her hefty weight; but it was no burden to bear when she knew how to use it. His attack is quick, and so as he lowers himself to her left forearm she attempts to withdraw it (and perhaps this is only successful because of his true intent). As he moves for the left side of her throat, Tonravik seizes the opportunity to lash out with the lifted left foreleg, to attempt to hook it around his right (hock area, of his front foreleg) and pull, even as her head turns and her rear-legs shift to accommodate her changing position, shuffling to her own right. Instead of meeting her neck, his jaw clashes with her own, parted wide to protect the exposed areas of her face. She thrusts her own weight forward in attempt to knock him truly off his feet, unsure if she had captured him with her foreleg or not, or even if his balance had been compromised by that at all; but the leg, after shoving the weight of her body forward, attempts to meet the ground again in preparation to assail him again. xxxxxxxThe bear reveled in these moments, these fights; she learned from others, of their defenses, and their offensive ways. Tonravik was something of a beserker when she fought, in that she was inescapable. She would attack, again and again and again. Speak!