Dawnlark Plains darkest hour

She was coming closer.  There was no aggression in her now, but that did not matter.  Even this close was too much.

She was not reacting in a way that was right.  She needed to be driven away.

The growl burst into a full throated snarl from Wealda’s chest as she lunged forward and slammed herself into Masquerade, aggressively shoving her sideways and snapping at her face.  She did not wish to maim her, only to force her to put distance between them.  So Wealda did not pin her yet.

If she was pinned she could not leave.

Still, she would tolerate no disagreement.  The longer Masque stayed the more a danger she became, the wrongness setting all the fur to rise in a ridge along her nape and spine.  The rush was a final warning.