Haunted Wood I don't want your crowd
lions & men
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Ooc — thalia
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#1
All Welcome 
empty, dead eyes. the warmth of her mother's pelt, the breaths that didn't match her dead gaze, the two words she'd whispered, over and over and over and over and—

the girl startles awake, breath rapid and eyes wide, propelling herself out of the den she'd scratched out for herself. "scylla!" she calls, instinctively, then bites her tongue as she clamps her jaws shut. her vision is blurred, and it takes a second for her to realize it's because of her unshed tears. tensing, she screws her eyes shut, blinking quickly and forcing her expression in something fierce. 

there is no going back to sleep, not anymore; it's late afternoon, anyways. rising, hoping to outpace the dreams and her own mistake, she makes for the center of the territory, finding some familiarity in the darker forest there.
Máscara del diablo
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Ooc — Sofie
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#2
The woman was casually tending to a cache she'd been setting up. It was going efficiently. 
It needed filling, though. Their numbers had clearly grown and she needed to keep them all fed.
The huntress was crouched low, waiting for the right time to snap the bird up.
Then there was some insolent screaming that made the ting starle upwards without a hope. She tried launching after it but snapped the empty air. She wasn't ready.

Who was that?
She turned, heading towards the source with anger fluttering in her gaze.
She heard the uncaring footsteps of the one being blatant. They sounded small. 
Was it a coyote? A raccoon? The call sounded wolfish but she was in her own world...
Carefully, she placed her footsteps after her new prey.
And pounced over the bushes to land on top of whatever -- whoever -- she was stalking.
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#3
abruptly, there is a dark shape flinging herself at the girl. Hela does little else besides react, picking the nearest target and moving. surging forward to meet the attacker, she attempts to sink her fangs into the forelimb that rapidly encroaches on her personal space, to tear and rip at it however best she can. dimly she understands that the attacker is a wolf, but this hardly matters; she feels only the instinctive need to defend herself.
Máscara del diablo
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Ooc — Sofie
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#4
Teeth caught her forelimb but she had landed and was ready. It was a pup, she realised. Another one?
Where did they come from? 
She flung her leg, trying to dislodge the youth. Her wrath only growing with the moments.

"Why were you screaming, child?" She looked down at the young fighter. She needed to know if there was anything wrong in the woods before she did something about it. She was heading towards the rendezvous site after all.
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lions & men
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#5
her grip is tenuous at best, and when the woman flungs her leg, her jaws are prompty dislodged. her hackles are raised and her gaze narrowed, snarl painted on her muzzle. the stranger asks a question, and the snarl fades only so that she may reply with a firm, "I wasn't." the stranger has no evidence it was her, either, and Hela will deny it until she's blue in the face. moving on, brow still furrowed, she issues a "who're you?"
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#6
Vanity growled ever so softly. Well, she did. She was sure she was alone until this youth started up. She wasn't going to do much about it though.
"Vanity." Her reply was curt. Evidently pissed.

"Cone. Hunt with me and I'll teach you how to be quiet." 
It wasn't a deniable request. It was a demand only a stupid pup would decline because it was learning. She gave the youth a hard look before turning to find her next prey that this youth would catch.
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lions & men
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#7
the woman didn't ask for her name, and so she didn't give it. she didn't much like the woman's suggestion, but nor was she going to flee from this. wordlessly, she stiffened her shoulders and moved to follow Vanity, entirely unimpressed with the woman and still wanting to try sinking her fangs into her leg again. but she's remarkably obedient as she follows, stoney gaze set somewhere in the distance yet still acutely aware of the woman beside her.
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#8
She moved through the bushes, keeping her ears tipped forward to catch all movement, every heartbeat of her prey.
The huntress wanted to relocate that quail. It had already started to fatten for the winter. 

The brushing, whispy footsteps by her side were too loud though. Too fast and heavy. Did the girl know what it was to hunt?
"Soften your steps muchacha​." She wasn't losing a second kill to her insolence.

She spied through the bushes and, lo and behold, there was the rustling. The firm rustle of feathery flapping as the bird righted itself after its fright.
She stopped, frozen at the sound and only prayed the girl did too.
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lions & men
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#9
the stranger adopts the same stance her mother does - did - when hunting prey, and automatically does she soften her steps, becoming little more than a shadow alongside the woman. she slows, following at the woman's haunch, though her expression twists into the same deadpan stare she'd often give her sister when Vanity calls back to her. bitch. she thinks, though when the woman stops, so does she. she's half tempted to ruin the hunt, motivated by spite, but doesn't shift; perhaps revenge ought to be saved for another time.
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#10
Bitch wasn't a very suitable curse for a female wolf. Because that was what she was, a bitch. But oh in so many ways Vanity was a bitch. So perhaps it was well deserved Hela thought of her as so.

She eyed the speckled feathers of the bird, pottering about like the insolent child behind.
She looked back, checking her position, then gestured forward with her paw. No words to be used at this proximity. Besides, he Whelp could get closer than she.
She waited for the child to oblige, but wasn't stupid. The outrageous thing could easily be a pain and ruin the hunt again. So, in this case, Vanity was ready, looking to the bird and measuring the distance to spring should there should be any signs of flight.
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lions & men
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#11
the woman gestures for her to go ahead, and Hela is motionless a moment before finally complying, slinking forward as her mother had taught her. it becomes obvious why the female sends her first; the undergrowth and thick and she is small, used to navigating the same kind of terrain. 

it is only when she comes within striking distance that she hesitates, glancing back instinctively. she half-expects the face of her mother, and grief washes over her suddenly, painfully. gritting her teeth, she refocuses on the bird, hearing cass' voice, now. focus. only strike when you are completely confident in her kill, daughter. tongue darts out to pass over her lips, and the grouse rustles its feathers. a long moment passes, it pecks at something on the ground. and then Hela moves, the same viper-fast speed she'd use in a fight, or to harass moonshadow's children. this time, she does not aim for the face; her fangs latch in the bird's breast, and she whips the thing around her head, it's scream whistling past her ear and then the crack of its neck, feathers falling all around the pair.
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Ooc — Sofie
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#12
She watched the Whelp size up the bird, weaving closer through the undergrowth. Her colours were perfect for a hunter, she blended in perfectly with the browning undergrowth. Winter would be perfect, especially when prey was scarce.
A good spy, too.

She watched her pounce and struggle as she tried to bring the bird to its end.
"The neck." Was her only instruction. She wasn't going to help. In her land, you learnt through your own actions and through instruction. It was clear the girl knew how to hunt and didn't need example, she just needed direction and practice.
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lions & men
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Ooc — thalia
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#13
she stills, and a moment later drops the bird to the ground. it's neck is craned backwards, unnaturally, and she answers the woman's statement only with, "broken." despite herself, a grin spreads across her muzzle, pride and a brief flash of joy surging through her veins. it's the first time she'd made a catch like that, and she hadn't had success since she'd last been hunting, with—

her joy flatlines, expression dropping just as fast. "where's the cache?" it feels like a hollow victory, without her mother or scylla around to see it. why had she left her sister alone? why had she run? it was wrong, terrible of her, and that stupid feeling tightened around her throat like a noose again. guilt
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Ooc — Sofie
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#14
There seemed to be joy. There often was after the thrill of a kill. Vanity let herself smirk. She'd done well. But that joy seemed to vanish all too quickly as the girl stared at the broken bird.

"To kill means survival. This way." 
She knew some wolves had faulty thoughts about killing and some didn't at all, but they had to feed and it was only good to get it out of the head now when the thought was fresh and new. 
She started walking to show th girl the cache and ensure this one was clean and secure.
She uncovered the hole, the large rock easy enough for her to move with a good wiggle with her jaws and paws.
All seemed ok, and looked like it had been cleaned out.
"In there."
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lions & men
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Ooc — thalia
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#15
"duh." she retorts, moving to pick up the bird. irritation replaces guilt, and in an attempt to evade the looming thoughts, she focuses on following the woman, the way to the cache. when Vanity uncovers it - she's never seen a cache quite like this one, before - she tosses the bird in lightly, listening for the soft thump of its body. its a waste, perhaps, that fresh meat, but she isn't hungry anymore. with a muttered, "bye," and a final glance at the woman, she turns heel and vanishes back into the wood, hoping to find her way back to her glade.