Alpine Lake And then walk until our feet are torn

WC: 1039

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When the male replied to her, it wasn’t so much a question that faced her but a statement, but her features didn’t change. She meant what she’d said, even though it was possibly a stretch of the truth. In character, of course, she easily could have matched up to the burly brawn he clearly possessed; so there was a truth, at least in part, to her words. What he had meant, of course, was a challenge for her physical strength, which may or may not have matched up to his own. He definitely had the muscle mass to be a capable fighter, and the confidence of one who had seen a victorious end to a feud here and there. Niamh was young still, and inexperienced- improperly trained, and had learned more or less through sparring with her brother- the one she was now searching for. The ache in her heart made her want to throw all the chips on the table and gamble her life away simply because part of her was damaged...The part that had wandered away, blood-shod, had escaped her heart. Now she simply wanted something, anything, to take that sting away.

That being said, Niamh had begun to discover a new sort of logic which had been sent by some unforseen force to guide her and stop her from making foolish mistakes. Naturally, she could have thrown every inch of herself away in the last fight she’d been in, which had been against two other wolves. To be fair, she hadn’t begun the fight with two opponents- the second had arrived later on and had joined in unfairly. She still felt spiteful about the entire debacle, but swore her revenge on the ungrateful wench who had come too close to Niamh’s pack’s territory. In seeing that she was outmatched by the two females, she had withdrawn from the battle, and presently, she was using the same amount of judgement to decide whether there was any reason to battle this stranger. Sparring a friend or a family member was one thing- there was always the guarantee that they would abide by certain guidelines, or withdraw as soon as a worthy opponent was decided. A stranger, however, was a dangerous match. How could she ever trust the ivory male to stop at blood or domination?

He pressed forward only slightly, and issued a challenge, one that a slightly younger Niamh might have leapt at without even answering. Now, though, she knew better than to simply throw herself at him. Instead, she regarded him levelly, as though she didn’t think anything of his physical strength, or that he was a worthy opponent. His claim led her to believe that spars were common in his family, and that also led her to come to the conclusion that he was well trained. Still, she couldn’t simply back down from a challenge completely, even though now was not the time for her to fight. Was her hind leg even completely healed from where Rosalyn had bit her, or would it crumple under the stress of a fight? It carried her well enough even on uneven ground and against the coursing winds, but she wasn’t so sure that she was at full strength, even though she appeared to be. She heard Colt’s voice in her head, warning her against picking a fight with a stranger- especially one who appeared as menacing as this one, though there was a calm about him that she admired. To be reckless and savage in a fight was an asset to some- but this male clearly had a good head on his shoulders...And it was that quality that made Niamh not particularly want to fight him- instead, she found herself desiring him, and wanting him to follow her back to the pack. With the other wolves gathering to the South in two new groups, the Redhawks would need to strengthen their numbers and the amount of capable fighters within the pack. Without Caiaphas, they were short one warrior...But this male would make a suitable addition, if he would allow himself to be charmed.

”I don’t deny your strength,” She commented mildly, ”And I do enjoy a good spar...But I would prefer to avoid jeopardizing either of us in a foolish and pointless show of physical strength; we don’t know each other, you and I,” She said. ”How am I to trust that what should merely be a show of strength won’t turn into a fight to the death?” She asked. Who was talking, just then? Niamh didn’t usually speak in such a dignified manner...Perhaps she’d begun to mature, finally. ”I have a pack to lead, and don’t intend to be in anything less than perfect form should I encounter a real threat,” She said, almost playfully. Of course, he could threaten her in earnest any moment- but she didn’t get that sort of a vibe from him. She sensed a sort of nobility about him; the sort that gave him a bit of arrogance, but not the sort that would act in a way that might seem crooked or unjust. Even fallen knights still often lived a life that was guided by the laws of chivalry.
”I’m Niamh Blackthorn, of the Redhawks,” She said, moving forward and dipping her muzzle to him in a form of greeting, though her crown and pol remained high. For her, the advent of a spar had been more or less forgotten, in lieu of the prospect of possibly convincing him to join her pack. Such a strong creature would truly be an asset, and for some reason, she found herself feeling as though they might get along- as long as he didn’t insist that they fight. She hoped, instead, that he would introduce himself, and that they might get better acquainted. She knew already that she wanted him- he was strong and fit, and had a good sense of humour about him….And an excellent ego, as well. As long as it could be kept in check, he would make an ideal recruit, and Niamh would see that any new recruits who worked hard were properly rewarded.

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