Chimera Fields apollonius

she wants to kill him. she wants to take all of her rage out upon him, the pathetic little worm, still lying there upon the ground and cowering like he always had. rip him limb from limb like some sad insect and listen to him scream and yet—

and, yet.

here they both are, far from Ursus and their prescribed social roles. the world has changed dramatically and no longer does she command his fear and fealty. they are alone, without pack. at least, so she assumes he has left the valley—she draws a deep inhale and finds his pelt holds no more Ursus scent on it than hers.

so, then. alone, and hungry. she turns her gaze to the retreating deer and nods toward it.

hunt, she says, and is a little surprised by the rustiness of her voice; normally rough, it barely exists at all, just a tattered whisper upon the wind. she has not spoken aloud in nearly a moon. deer. we go. now.

her voice is imperative, but she does not mean to scare him away. rather, if she can galvanize him into action, get them both running. . .they may just grab a bite to eat this day.