Bramblepoint Burn the Fleet [m]

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Violence, gore.

The blonde wolf forged her way through drifted snow, surging toward the West where the Glen would be, shelthered, potentially, against the shoulder of Moonspear but she would find herself subdued by the howling winds which rose higher throughout the day. While she might not be considered a superstitious wolf, she did have a feeling perhaps that this was some type of pathetic fallacy; and that the weather was telling her to head back, to check in on her son and daughter. So she would finished her journey part of the way through the orchard of Bramblepoint, and howl to inform the wolves of the Glen that Bronco would be delayed in his return, waylaid by a fight with a cougar, which was still on the prowl. She relayed the message that the attack took place at the Caldera's base, and that the beast had headed West; and that Bronco, Fennec and Alyx were all recovering. 

She turned back, then, certain that she could have shaken snow from the tip of Moonspear with her howl and that surely someone in the Glen had heard her even over the winds. They circled her and hounded her, snarling and biting from all angles as though to shepherd her along and so she went, her blonde fur tousled by the wind and her eyes squinted against its dry sting. 

She set her gaze toward the East, to where the Caldera would rise into the stormy clouds though it was far out of sight yet. Above her, the bare branches of fruit trees creaked and groaned, clattering as the wind made them parry and fence. She continued to force her way back along the same path she'd taken on her way West, only to find her trail fading before long, her pawprints whisked away by moving dunes of snow. What caught her attention was a set of tracks heading North, which were given little more than a bare sniff in passing- but the scent she caught made her whirl, plunging her nose into the snow so that she could be certain of what she'd found. 

Her pupils dilated, and she uttered a low, thrumming growl, before she set out at a ground-eating pace, following directly in the footsteps left behind shortly enough ago that the wind had not yet given enough mercy to cover them and hide them from her sight.

She needed to leave this place.  The closer she was to the Caldera, the more sure she was that the witch's curse was real.  It had to be magic that had allowed her to dodge her, to snag her so easily.  It was the only explanation Kiwi could find to rationalize her own inadequacy, and it froze her to the core.  Almost more than the wind that ripped at her coat, a warning to a blizzard that would soon be tearing its way across the wilds.

Kiwi ran, but her stride didn't eat miles in the way it should have.  Her head was pounding and she regretted not pausing at the lake to drink.  There had to be water nearby.

She stopped and cast about for any sign of water before lowering her head to nose at the ground.  All the while unaware of the reckoning that was barreling towards her, against the wind, from behind.

The pawprints were fresh; she could still see the indentations left behind by Kiwi's toepads, and so she hurtled forth, zig-zagging through the maze of wintering fruit trees and berry bushes, following the path the fiery female had woven. She could feel her heartbeat quicken, knowing that with each stride she took, she closed the gap; Kiwi wasn't running, after all. At least- not yet. Niamh, with her long legs, was built for speed and for covering distance- so she hurtled through the wintery orchard grounds and didn't slow her pace when she caught sight of the ruddy figure trailing along ahead, head down as she went. 

She continued to charge toward the figure, not checking her speed to make any dramatic speeches, or call out to give her approach away. If Kiwi noticed her and began to ran, she'd simply pursue her and hunt her down until she got what she wanted. And if she didn't, then Niamh was prepared to hit the very girl she'd trained to fight, with everything that she had.

Maybe Fennec had cursed her.  Something that would have surprised the "witch" a hell of a lot, since she'd considered the threat to be pure bullshit when she delivered it.

But with the wind in her face and the snow thick underfoot, Kiwi was too distracted and focused to hear anything coming.  Her paranoia for what lay behind had faded in the forest to become an urgency to reach what lay ahead, and with that one track mind she pressed forward.

Until Niamh took her from behind with all the efficiency of an ambushing tiger.

Kiwi hit the snow for the second time that day, and for the second time she snapped with desperate fury.  This time she didn't know what had attacked her, however, as she kicked out and attempted to put some space between them.

A spray of snow was sent flying as she collided with Kiwi, and the snapping of wicked teeth clicked in tandem with the dull crack of muscle-sheathed bone from the impact. A small whirlwind of snow and ice flashed between them as Kiwi struck out with her hind feet, shoving at Niamh's chest and keeping her snapping jaws far from their deadly target but she would not be deterred for long. She snapped at the legs that struck out at her, taking advantage of the moment to ensure that her opponent would not be able to escape her should she manage to dislodge Niamh even momentarily. Niamh would not allow this chance to escape her- not when the years had passed without so much as a hint of Kiwi's scent to confirm that she lived, still. Not when her desire for vengeance had been allowed to simmer and boil into what was now a concentrated rage that possessed her, consuming her completely. 

She did not seek to seduce Kiwi into a fair battle, but aimed to ruin her completely. She dove for Kiwi again, aiming to grab her by or near her throat- anywhere that would get her even an inch closer to the red murderer's jugular.

Kiwi did not manage to wriggle her way out, but she did manage to catch a glimpse of her attacker.  It was the blonde one.... she didn't recall her name.  But she remembered on some level training with her, and that she'd been the mate to the one she killed... the one who had murdered her mother.

Kiwi snarled and, as Niamh's jaws met their mark on her hind leg, lunged for her face.  Even as the bone cracked she didn't hesitate.  Whether she drew blood or not didn't matter; Niamh was here for only one outcome and so now was she.  This woman would die so that she could live and avenge her mother.

Kiwi's lips peeled back over glaring fangs and her eyes burned iridescent green.  She shouldered Niamh's bid for her throat, for now, and made her own for the woman's hocks.  Hamstring her, then finish it quickly, just as she'd done to that alpha before coming here.  

Finish her as she'd finished to her mate, years ago.  This woman had no magic to her, nothing to overcome with.  And Kiwi was unmatched; she knew this.

From any other wolf, Niamh might have expected a bid for mercy or a plea for forgiveness- but the fact that Kiwi fought back left Niamh to assume only that she knew the fate Niamh intended for her, and that she chose not to accept it. Off-white sabres flashing at her forelegs in return spoke the same wordless threat. Blood spilled into blood spilled into snow- and as it melted a pact was made between the two warriors.

Incisors ripped through the flesh of her shin shearing it to the bone, white as the snow on the ground. She'd caught the fur of Kiwi's shoulder and yowled in pain, tearing her fangs free to snap with renewed frenzy at Kiwi's face, muzzle, jawline- anything she could do to fend off Kiwi's snapping jaws.

This wasn't like before.  She wasn't pinned, and instead was free to wreak as much havoc as she wanted on the woman who dared fight her.  Kiwi tasted blood triumphantly and whirled away, lunging for Niamh's neck in order to push her over.

She hadn't anticipated the lightning recovery after the cry of pain.  Generally a wolf hesitated, but not her opponent. Niamh's fangs met Kiwi's face midway through and tore furrows along her muzzle and skull.  She hissed and pulled back as blood began to run, obscuring her vision partially in one eye. She hunched on three good legs and attempted to prepare to counter what might come next.

With a gaping wound in her foreleg, Niamh fell prey to the force of Kiwi's attack and staggered sideways as her leg gave out from beneath her. She went down onto her shoulder and hissed in contempt, but was spared annihilation as Kiwi stepped back to compose herself and refocus. The brief respite gave Niamh little more than a moment to haul in a ragged breath and reassess her opponent. They were both short the function of one leg- but it was with a pang of dread that Niamh felt she might be at a disadvantage. Kiwi's kind limb was injured, but she still had the full function of both forelegs, to help balance her and keep her throat protected. Niamh, on the other hand...

She pulled herself up to square off against Kiwi again, baring her fangs and staring straight into those burning emerald eyes- only to notice that one was filmy, obscured by blood. Niamh was desperate- anything she could use to her advantage needed to be used- and she was running short on blessings. 

She couldn't feint or use any amount of fancy footwork, but she had a significant height advantage over Kiwi, so when she threw herself at the ginger predator once more she did so with a powerful kick of her hindquarters, aiming to smash into her flank and take her to the ground where footwork would no longer be needed.

So far, Niamh had lunged in every attack, using her teeth primarily.  Her leg was injured, so Kiwi expected more of the same.  In fact, as Niamh moved, Kiwi stepped forward to meet her, only realizing a moment too late her mistake.

Niamh's kick sent her sideways and caught her injured leg beneath her with an agonizing twist.  Kiwi let out a sharp noise that began as a whine but ended as a rumble.  She tried to scramble to her feet, to recover from the mis-step her obscured vision had prevented her seeing, but she wouldn't be fast enough.  She was exposed.

Clumsy on her three legs, Niamh staggered forward with the impact, once again falling down onto the same shoulder as before- but this time, she fell against Kiwi, rather than falling into the snow. They became a writhing mass of limbs for a moment before Niamh scrambled her hind feet beneath herself, and snaked herself along Kiwi's side like a golden serpent. The dewclaw of one of Kiwi's forelegs snagger her lower eyelid and raked down along her cheek, causing blood to spill into her own vision- but not before she could latch her jaws onto Kiwi's windpipe. 

She fell limp, otherwise; every fibre of her focus concentrated on clenching and holding her grip, dead-weight simply hanging from the soft, vulnerable point just below the crook of Kiwi's jaw, eyes staring hard into red fur, unblinking.

Kiwi fought it like hell.  She scratched, struck out, mindless of if her claws were hitting ground or Niamh.  But it was no use.  For the second time that day, Kiwi found herself unable to draw breath, but she would find no mercy in this adversary.

After a time her fighting fell to lethargy... then twitching... and finally quiet.  Peace like she hadn't known in a long time.

Mom.  She tried to choke out the word, but that was the last movement the girl would make.  With that last convulsion her stare went glassy, her body slackened, and her soul released its hold on this world.

RIP Kiwi <3

Blow after blow, she handled the shock of kicks and scrapes as Kiwi fought against her, hauling her against the ground and occasionally wrenching her neck in a godawful direction before her movements slowed. It seemed to take forever, and Niamh felt her strength sapping as darkness and dizziness caused her to swoon, from the pressure building up in her jaws. Still she clenched and held, long after Kiwi fell silent and still. She would fall unconscious before she would release her grip. 

When she awoke, she lay next to the stiffening corpse, her head cradled between Kiwi's rigid forelimbs. She felt an ache in her temple as she slowly worked her jaws, and pulled herself free from her opponent's stiff embrace. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a seated position, to gaze down with an absent stare at the russet woman's face. The snow had already begun to cover her corpse; the warmth had already left it. She blinked and only then realized that one of her eyes was swollen shut. She gazed apathetically down at her foreleg, crimson from the knee down. 

She'd say nothing, but would turn and limp away in eery silence as the winds finally fell still.