Seaside Moors ii: the fang gang

oops disregard any mention tundra made of the bear being the injured thing in the first post, read it wrong

asides from her muzzle wrinkling in idle disgust, the soldier does not blanch from the grizzly display laid out before her. if anything, it only adds to the icy fire steeling caliginous eyes. it seems blissfully unaware of the daggers aimed its way, content to continue feasting on the unlucky soul that had fallen prey to those brawny paws and if luck has any say in this game then perhaps it'll run with them today and the beast will be on its way after filling those greedy jaws. it is perhaps the first time that she is thanking the unperturbed roll of the sea and its giggly breezes that swirl so energetically from the water's back and twirl her scent away from the threat. perhaps the slap of metal and rancid bear against her face would also flood the moors and reach someone who could assist because there wasn't a chance that she was letting loose a call that'd betray her position. 

no, for now she would play mere silent sentry and hopefully see the corpulent heft roam away from the heart of rusalka. she is statuesque, years of brutal training coming to life with as little effort to recall as one would need to walk or talk. if it came to a fight she'd be pretty damn ready, especially considering that she'd wasted precious time that could've been spent grabbing backup. but no, she'd let the damned murkiness lingering at the edges of her mind swamp in and deem her no better than a senseless idiot. jaws grit tighter and there is no denying that that irrational part of her shivers in anticipation at the idea of trashing the flood gates and letting adrenaline soar free to awaken the warrior she was. because when it all came down to it, run as she may, tundra could never escape the coding engraved so deeply into that tattered brain of hers.