Seaside Moors ii: the fang gang

At the base of the hills, where the grass grows tall and yellow before the soil becomes inhospitable to even the hardiest of shrubs, there is a solitary grey mass half lost in darkness. One of the weathered trees spreads an open palm of branches across a backdrop of dim sky, shrouding the shape below. 

The criss-cross of tapering shadows transform the mass beyond recognition.

A wet breath shudders through it all the same. The hide trembles through the struggle—it would resemble one of the barnacled boulders lodged like loose cuspids in the sand, were it not for the swath of crimson leading away from it.
The sea is licking greedily at a pool further along the beach. As the tide draws this away, the foam deepens to an ugly pink. So far the scavenging sea birds have not taken notice of the grisly mess, but it is only a matter of time.

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Caution: Whump prompt / random event; please tag Maharet if you want her to appear.

i guess tundra's being psycho again

and she wondered, if after all of her snorts and eye rolls in regards to those that believed in gods and greater entities, did they perhaps indeed roam vast skies; restless and spiteful. for the nagging hiss in her ear had never let up and what lay before her now prompted it to loose a sound of wicked delight. 

'cursed' it would croon, tickling at the fringes of pinned ears that offered no barrier against its leer. not when the rippling breeze and dancing waters would offer their own lilting symphonies of that predatory word; cursed, cursed, cursed!

a ragged breath roves forth, twisting amongst the jostle of the breeze as tenebrous eyes cast haphazard glares at the monstrosity before her. 'don't..' it didn't reach pursed lips, muscles straining in the ever tightening clench of those ivory jaws. how foolish of her to believe in peace gracing her with its serene presence, to think for a heartbeat that a killer like her would not be haunted for the rest of her life. wrinkling her muzzle as the tang grows stronger with each waft the air tugs her way; the sea glints in the light as if flashing its teeth in a smirk whilst lapping greedily at the blood tainting its shores. 

there is ringing in the distance, a cry to listen and to realise that this is not her! she does not believe in signs, this is coincidence- of course, coincidence! she frowns, it is a shame that that toll is so distant...for how could this be clocked up to such a feat? perhaps if she simply wandered down to the abominable figure below and let it do as it wished then it would leave...her stain would not taint these wolves. a sigh shudders forth as a paw shifts to press to the ground before her. would it be so bad? if she is to leave a trail of destruction wherever she roams then why should she wish to continue such a thing? beat the gods at their own game by opting out entirely...there is nothing really to keep her here is there?

but that is a lie

rosencrantz is here, rowan has found his way home to her...

she snatches that, holds their names close. a growl rumbles forth; she deserves repose! she wants...brows crease as she continues to track the pained breaths circulating through the distant beast- she wants a future. she does. something sharpens in that look, the soldier writhing free from the dwam that had cast that killing cloud across her mind. she is sick of the bullshit life she's been granted so far; and she is NOT going to just roll over and take it. 

snaking forth, eyes darken with malice as she stops a healthy distance from the intrusion- if she must fight for a shot at normality then she would. but perhaps...she scans it warily....it might not come to that, could death already be singing sweet lullabies in its ear? she says nothing now, opting to crouch amongst the swaying grasses and observe.

but she will fight for the chance of life. she knows she will never lead a grand existence, wolves will never look back and remember her name; whisper tales of her greatness. but she means something to a select few and that, that has come to be more than she could ever have wished for and to tundra, was ultimately enough.  

in fact it was marvelous.

The body twitches where it lays. A squeal permeates through the air and as it dissipates the sea lion's head is swept in to a void, and then there is the slightest movement in the dark. The bone gives way beneath a clawed fist, merciless, and there is quiet.
The flies are buzzing around the still-warm meat, spiraling manically as a bloodied palm is lifted free of the mess. As the bear begins to lick herself clean, her tongue works its way across the rough flesh of her digits, between each claw, indulgent.
Next she descends upon the lion's remains in the manner of a pig truffling the soil; she clamps ahold with her teeth, drawing the body further from the beach while the pulverized head sits separate from the rest. Whether the bear notices the lurking wolf or not is unresolved—she appears to be very invested in stripping the fatty meat from the carcass and nothing more.

oops disregard any mention tundra made of the bear being the injured thing in the first post, read it wrong

asides from her muzzle wrinkling in idle disgust, the soldier does not blanch from the grizzly display laid out before her. if anything, it only adds to the icy fire steeling caliginous eyes. it seems blissfully unaware of the daggers aimed its way, content to continue feasting on the unlucky soul that had fallen prey to those brawny paws and if luck has any say in this game then perhaps it'll run with them today and the beast will be on its way after filling those greedy jaws. it is perhaps the first time that she is thanking the unperturbed roll of the sea and its giggly breezes that swirl so energetically from the water's back and twirl her scent away from the threat. perhaps the slap of metal and rancid bear against her face would also flood the moors and reach someone who could assist because there wasn't a chance that she was letting loose a call that'd betray her position. 

no, for now she would play mere silent sentry and hopefully see the corpulent heft roam away from the heart of rusalka. she is statuesque, years of brutal training coming to life with as little effort to recall as one would need to walk or talk. if it came to a fight she'd be pretty damn ready, especially considering that she'd wasted precious time that could've been spent grabbing backup. but no, she'd let the damned murkiness lingering at the edges of her mind swamp in and deem her no better than a senseless idiot. jaws grit tighter and there is no denying that that irrational part of her shivers in anticipation at the idea of trashing the flood gates and letting adrenaline soar free to awaken the warrior she was. because when it all came down to it, run as she may, tundra could never escape the coding engraved so deeply into that tattered brain of hers.