Moonspear Love you if you love a car for the road trips

Set for after this thread. Vague about details due to being in-progress.

The pounding in her ears was deafening, heart hammering beneath her breast. Every second of the encounter continued to play over in her head, an endless cycle mocking her. She could feel burning from deep within her chest, her lungs desperate for air. But she couldn’t stop to catch her breath, the fear of being caught a guillotine looming over her—

—what happened?

All around her the world spun, vision coming in and out of focus. She couldn’t drudge up the details, each replaying of the attack just a touch different from the last—but none she could escape, moving blindly to the world around her. All she knew was the metallic taste that lingered on her tongue, warm and tingling. She was unaware even as she crossed back into Moonspear territory, nor aware of how she appeared; agouti coat tinged red around her maw and chest, the origin unknown.

If she was not prowling about the den, she was near the borders, ever ready and alert. After leaving Hydra alone to her children for the day, Lyra began her usual prowl along the outskirts of their territory. It had been quiet for the most part, which she attributed to the season; many were welcoming new lives into their respective packs and were busy with all that entailed. Still, there would always be trouble lurking in the Wilds regardless, and this was proven true as Lyra caught the scent of blood nearby.

Immediately, she began to follow the trail that led from the borders, pace quickening as she realised it was her younger sister's trail she was following. It didn't take long before the agouti form of Yama came into view. She moved frantically, almost as if she were running from something. Lyra raced to catch up to her, features set into a look of hardened concern. "Yama," she called out sternly, a command to get the girl to stop so she could get a better look at her and figure out what all this was about.

He too was drawn in by the acrid scent lingering in the air, though his only hope had been misfortune on some poor, lame prey that would serve him to feed hungry mothers. Whatever spot of quiet they had was meant to be hung onto, but as it were he had long learnt that peace and quiet did not go hand in hand. At least not for Moonspear’s sake—it seemed a spot of trouble to ask of it to do so.

The stern cut of Lyra’s voice drew him in; it was distant and yet he was familiar with it from events of past and present. His hopes bolstered, thinking perhaps the pair of sisters had brought something down—they were dashed just as quickly when he saw there was nothing felled between them as they ran. There was only the bloodied maw of Yama and her frantic pace inward.

He fell in line behind them then, trailing at a clip suitable enough to survey and hold concern. A careful glance back the way they had come here and there turned up nothing, but the borders weren’t far off from here either; his hackles set to prickle uncomfortably. His view righted itself to the way ahead and to the pair, and he called out to them lowly beneath his breath.

What was going on here? Why now?

Footfalls at her back, drawing nearer by the second. Each step forced her pace to quicken, mind spinning tales of that which followed her; he followed her home, he was back for more—she needed to keep moving, to find a place to stow away in. But her follower was relentless, their pace picking up to reach her, to catch her. Suddenly, the Ostrega stopped and whirled around to face her stalker, crouched down with ears pinned and a snarl contorting her face; a display unlike any she’d put on before, the image hardly comparable to Yama on any other day. Her muscles were tensed, body poised and ready to attack—

—but the sound of her name on her sister’s tongue snapped her out of it. She was not followed by the male, only by her elder sibling. The feral glint in her eyes was washed away by relief as her body slumped forward, a heavy sigh heaved; briefly, her rigidness returned as her ears swiveled to meet the sound of another but relaxed once she realised who it was: Dirge.

Looking between the two of them, she was at a loss for words. She drew her tongue over her maw, nervous then startled, the metallic taste a reminder. “I—” she struggled to find her voice. “I-I need to clean up…” Perhaps washing away the blood would cleanse her of the encounter entirely, allow her to forget the feeling of teeth meeting flesh, the taste of blood on her tongue, the—

But, truth be told, did she really want to forget?