Rising Sun Valley skwila

right along the water

enlivened by the meat she had managed to hunt with help, heda kept to her word and went out into the rising sun valley. the morning was long, the winds low despite the large flakes of snow which fell in soft whispers onto the drifts around her.
she couldn't come back without a home. she wouldn't.
unknown to heda, the aura around her body had tasted the new year and shifted ever so slightly; her starveling frame and general hyperfocus upon daily pursuit of food had turned off all her focus to the processes of her nature.
and nature answered with the promise of replenishment.
she paused on a rise, panting; she had skirted one pack, having lost her nerve, and stood staring toward she thought others might be. the frostlapped edges of a large stream haunted her thirst, and soon heda turned for that.

The herd migrated. Anselm followed them, hyperfocused on knowing their destination. He did not want to return to Sleepy Fox Hollow, not yet. A bitter tincture settled in his stomach to think of the women there, getting close to Etienne.

And rather than voice these feelings in a healthy manner, Anselm chose avoidance.

The scent of the herd faded near a cold stream. Anselm caught another scent on the wind - the woman from the summit.

An odor lingered like lightning smoke, burning the edges of his nose. A sweetness to it, but an anger too. He stalked close, eyes hard as he drank from the stream, feeling the ice as it chilled his throat and stomach.

the hateful man was here and heda felt breath catch in her throat with a hard throb. 
they drank down-current from one another, and when she raised her head, it was to catch the harsh eye with a fading moue around her wet mouth.
heda glanced back down the creek, to where the waterway narrowed and curved around into the packland she had passed.
and then she set her attention back on the man, and stood proudly, and turned to give him a wide berth as she traveled on.

Any other day, Anselm might have been content with a staring contest held across the bank. Today he was rankled, already aggreived by the scenarios invented in his head.

He didn't understand. He didn't want Etienne that way -- but his heart smoldered to think of Etienne embracing either of the women in their small fold. This was deeper than petty jealousy.

Heda stood a little taller. Prouder.

Her body language a flagrant fuck you after their last encounter.

Anselm lifted his head from the water, eyes upon her. He held her gaze still as he wiped the riverwater from his chin, studying.

He strode after her in an arrogant prowl, wondering what evil she would bring the world with her jezebel's perfume.

the redstained ears slanted in clear dismay and surprise; heda turned to see the large wolf stalking after her. any other time she would have noticed no more detail than this; however, the moments that passed thereafter caught her eyes wandering to his own, to the stony jawline, to the broad chest and the muscles which signalled a life lived, things accomplished.
what she perceived as loathing in the goldcoin eyes was as deep as her anger.
"i have taken nothing of yours, or walked after something you believe belongs to you," she growled when she had taken more distance, and still he pressed along. "stop following me." in all this, heda did not shift fully to look at him; she tossed her words over an angular shoulder with disdain.

Anselm continued drawing close, but his mind continued to travel elsewhere. Inventing scenarios of Etienne --

of his sun-slanted fur being touched, of a woman held in the crook of his slender chest, of his molten gaze softened by an emotion Anselm could never inspire --

No! His teeth grit in an emotion uglier than jealousy alone.

Heda's voice brought him back to the presence. Anselm cast a gaze over her while the pointed edges of her flowering season singed his nose. Vhat? Did someone need to take something from him first before he drew teeth across their hide? Anselm was not the type to wait to be wronged: no, he knew what everyone was capable of.

Vhy do I have to vait for you to take something from me? His yellow eyes held no warmth in them, only a cold revulsion. Vhere is your husband?

a flinch; a clench of her jawline. why did this man seem to hate her so much? they did not so much as know the names of one another. whatever had flared in her body now cooled beneath frustration and the ever-present pinch of hunger.
why was he asking about caracal? heda bit the inside of her jaw until metallic heat burst in her mouth; "he's dead."
her breath was ragged; it cut the corners of her throat when she breathed in.
but she did not weep and she did not waver, silvershadowed gold burning into the resentful gilt of the boy's face.

He's dead. Well that was a bummer. Moreso for her than him. Anselm might have felt a shred of remorse for thumbing so clumsily over what was so clearly a wound, if he was not so busy thinking of himself.

After all, he owed this stranger nothing -- least of all his kindness.

Heda's breaths came in ragged. She deserved none of this vitriol, yet Anselm thrust the blade all the same. Vhat, your god could not save him?

her teeth were reaching for his face before he had finished his sentence, before heda could realize it; her body responded in instinct to a suitor pressing his luck, but mind reacted to the stranger's prolonged and specific cruelty.
the day of the deer hunt with persia was the first in a long while where her heart had not been so tamped down in grief, and this moment was similar: a scathe of fire that singed away all the hanging cobwebs of agony.
it did not matter if heda met her mark; she screamed and struck at him again, seeking to drive him back down the path she had not asked him to take.

Being a dick and playing with fire share two commonalities: eventually, you get burned.

Anselm did not have time to react to the viper-like speed of Heda's assault. Now he was in Etienne's position, like the day he had drawn blood from the sea-boy and felt miserable for it.

A dark gout of red rose in a jagged line above his muzzle. Anselm snarled, fending her off with a rough push. She screamed, angled limbs and teeth aiming for him again.

This time Anselm was a little more prepared. He rose with the boxing of his own limbs, jaws snapping at anything he might give, take, rebuke -- all out of a blind fury that she dared touch him,

That Etienne dared be touched by another --

And before Anselm knew it, he was maddened by his own crumbling empire. Blinded by a cloud of overwhelming estrus smoke. And sinking, sinking deeper into a man he did not recognize as he fought tooth and claw against her and the shadows snaring the functions of his heart.

If he could just pin her and stop her screaming.

he was much heavier than her, his blows harder and more demanding of bruise and blood. teeth scoured the side of her neck, twisting through her thin pelt until cerise bloomed in haunting orbs along her skin.
her gasp of agony was swallowed by the vibration of his snarling; he drove a shoulder into her chest and she dropped as if she were no more than wood and sinew, gasping for air that would not come.
if his onslaught continued, she was too weak and misted from lack of oxygen to fight him off, the growl muted and horrible, her kicking limbs too heavy to lift for long, her jaws slow.

They stood in a clash of teeth, both unfazed by the blood demanded of another. Anselm sensed the burn of iron in the air, the tang of salt in his teeth as he drove for fur and skin and was met in turn by Heda's hot breath and branding fangs.

Heda toppled. Anselm fell upon her, noticing her suck in her breath in pain. In that moment, it felt righteous -- but later, Anselm would feel a burning sense of shame to be the author of such ruthless callousness.

Her protest was slowing. It had been a long time since Anselm had been so close to another body. The heat of her frame pressed against him -- the tension in her fighting muscles exhilarating him. He felt something else awaken in him too, drunkenly summoned to life by the cloying mist of her scent. As he pinned her to the ground, Anselm felt something hard and unforgivable awaken longingly against her thigh.

But that was not him -- he would not take what was not his. While his gut burned with some unexpressed want too desperate to name, Anselm rose with a hard shove. Fuck off. He snarled, stalking stiffly to the bank's edge. His face throbbed with a latticework of new cuts -- and at some point in their struggle, he had bitten his own tongue.

This was territory too ugly for even Anselm -- he could not look at her and so, trotted away as a man hounded by his own dogs of shame.

the sensation of shock and knowing was shared between them, heda's body tensing in recognition and wavering in a response that would never have come at any other time such as this, such as this humiliation of tasting their blood seeping together in her mouth. she stared up in anger and shock and still, a bitterdeep curiosity for his own rage, until he had yanked away and spat a last epithet.
months, months. only months. it had been so short a time, and she did not immediately rise, feeling the blackening blood spread beneath her breastbone and spitting saliva reddened with it into the dirt, shame and fury and anguish sparkling in her veins.
at last, however, she forced her aching body up and glanced toward the bypass. if she came home in such a state she would only terrify her young ones; no. best to keep on, to keep going. 
she chose a direction, her steps ginger and breath shallow as she nursed the hurt of her bruisings and kept watch around her for that violent creature.
the rising sun soon swallowed her once more.