Bramblepoint my sweet torment

These days Bronte was often found roaming outside the Caldera than hunkering down at home. Today was no exception. She had been in the mood for a peaceful winter snow in the woods. And that is exactly what she had been doing, and quite enjoying herself at that.

But peace couldn't last. It was shattered by a terrified scream.

She knew that voice.

Not one, but two scents, of which she recognized. She didn't know what the hell was going on and she didn't care. Without giving it much thought, she found herself hurtling towards the commotion. The line of fire on her back was already set ablaze, her elongating legs burning.

Skidding into the arena, the sight she saw horrified her. A cascade of emotions spiked through her all at once. Fear. Panic. Confusion. Anger. 

The dark, wet and bloodied shape of Acrux, held fast in none other than the jaws of her friend and pack mate, Anathema. She liked both of them. But one, in this moment, much less so. Another beautiful white girl with eyes like emeralds, had also barraged in, to pull the darkling off Acrux, who had seemed so nice when she had met him before.

When she plowed into the fray, showing no fear, alongside Maggak, it was not she or Acrux whom she lunged for. It was Anathema. She was fond of the girl, without a doubt. But the Blackthorn had a good spirit and was not one to stand for senseless violence. Lips curled, the growl she released was surprising as she went to grab her firmly by the scruff. Her eyes flashed in a searing message. 

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!