Wrong Foot Forward

She felt the inaudible snap of the internal cord; the final strand of countless many that bound her patience together. She felt it along with this rough snap to her hip eliciting a sudden yip and swift hobble to the side, graceless as per usual. To walk was easy, it required little finness to carry her large form over great distances. Running, sprinting much the same at the very least. However the art of the quick turn and retaliation was nearly lost on the heavyset female. Where toned muscle and strengthened bones might have easily guided another, she was weight by soft sinew and fat layered on. Her movements were slow, if not predictable to witness. Never the less she turned around, brandishing heavy layers and build as the garb of defense. Her head lowered quickly as weathered lips drew back to reveal stained fangs. Her voice discarded its vow of soft tones to raise a sharp octave in warning to the other. Rounding her shoulders forward, she kept her head tucked within the protective folds of her neck, then stamped soundly forward, more an awkward heavy bounce than an actual feigned charge. Suffice it to say, she had never been physical assaulted by one outside of her mountain pack. But she had no intention of allowing to happen without some kind of consequence.