Luneshale Pass pantano

The fucker came for her! She did not see her boy, and mouthed to Khusobek to “get him!”—talking about the prick who went for her face, of course. Medusa herself reevaluated her own position and, seeing herself too close to harm, bounced away from redhead who she had hollered at just to regain her own footing. And away from Khusobek’s own jaws, to boot. 

Soto was distracted. Redhead was too. Medusa saw another arrive a beat too late as she herself dove for a more vulnerable part of Redhead—one that was maybe a little obvious, but hopefully because of all the chaos she wouldn’t have thought to defend it perfectly. 

Medusa, a bit dumbly, went for her throat. Not to kill, because she didn’t yet have a damn killers bone in her body, but to hold her down so number three could go and retrieve her boy. Over the snarls she hears his squeals, 

Get the fuck out of here? NOT WITHOUT MY BOY, YOU BITCH! ah, there it was, that claim. 

And she cannot control her own vice-like grip for the new anger that takes her. The sadness that consumes her as she looks into the dead gaze of the man that holds him. Too slow to save him. Too quick to attack to do what she was told. Could she kill? 

She didn’t know. But she wanted to. Now, she really, really wanted to—just as much as she wanted to die for this mistake, this arrogance. Maybe she would. But she’d make them fucking hurt. And if she didn’t take them down to the grave with her, if that was where she went, she sure as shit would make them fucking wish they were dead too.