Redsand Canyon days of creation

roll here!

finley and colin roared and screamed and snarled – a neatly laid out guide to action and reaction, places to strike. they’d pulled finley into colin’s path and she went willingly, a snarling blur of brown sweeping after colin’s flank. the teeth in their back lifted free; something black and white roared past like a storm.

if pressed – because few gut judgments survived first contact – renard would have put money on colin having either no clue what he was doing or too much of a clue. donovan’s judgment meant it could go either way. he hardly put up a difficult spar.

it wasn’t the latter. and they weren’t sure about the former. all that caution and quiet and this had been hiding under it the whole time, this snarling thing that, presented with finley as the option whose teeth lanced across his ribs, turned to her without hesitation, snapping furiously after her face.

they would never have guessed it of him. there was some restraint to learn, sure, but something satisfied coiled back in their chest nonetheless. that thing they’d seen, just out of reach –

– here it was after all.

they’d forgotten renard already. crashed together, all snarls and teeth. for a long few moments renard let them, a vulture circling a dying animal, watching it pull itself along until it could pull no more – then, darting forward, they came after colin instead, jaws opening to his hind leg to grip, bite down and pull. hoping just as he’d done for finley, whatever had come out to pick up his skin would come after its most immediate threat – one renard was glad to provide.

finley was still there. there were still so many things renard wanted to pick at until they bled. but more than anything now, they wanted to know what exactly colin would do when they got their teeth around his neck.