Whitefish River I'm gonna getcha

"not fair," she murmurs, under her breath. a snarl cuts across the last of the man's words, and for a moment the girl has the overwhelming urge to cut her fangs against his face, tear the lips from his mouth and with them, his lies. lies, lies, lies, she's not going to hurt her mother, she's going to rip out his windpipe, she's fine, she's going to pluck out his eyes. 

breath comes fast, stress mounting. it is chance (a roll of the dice, really), ultimately, that allows sane thoughts to form. strangled whine slips from her throat, and she turns tightly away, trotting, then running. her head pounds, desperation and frustration and rage fuel her onward, but ultimately she is diverted from the herm she could have caused today.