Bramblepoint every spear and ax

it had been difficult, at first, shortly after she'd renounced her position. the absence of power, a threshold for her ambition to cross, had left her wanting. even doubting, once or twice. but the nightwalker's throne had been a barren one, and she'd made up her mind to find a crown better suiting. but more pressing than finding that what her mind demanded was that which her stomach did, and so she returned to the hunting grounds she knew best in the interest of finding something filling. 

stepping neatly across a stream, pulling herself with a slight hitch of breath up the steep bank, she hesitated a moment among the reeds, ignoring the blackflies and mosquitos as she tested for a scent. something beckoned to the east, and so she altered her course slightly, setting off into the wood with a stiffening of her spine.

Saarthal was beginning to think there was truly something wrong with her. Every time she attempted to settle down, build meaningful relationships, find a home, something - always something, always inevitable - would disrupt the proceedings and she would be left, well, like she was now. Wandering, maybe just a bit out of her mind (but to be honest, when wasn't she?), and wondering why she remained trapped in this cycle. Right. This probably meant she just had to leave and find somewhere new, right? Or, maybe that was the problem. She never stayed long enough. Actually, you know what? Fuck that. Fuck everything. Whatever. God, I need some poppy seeds or some other shit. Fuck.

Where was she? Right. It didn't matter because nothing mattered and so she could just do whatever she wanted and eat whatever she wanted and even if there was clearly a scent of another wolf nearby and they could potentially be hostile or a cannibal and eat her alive, none of it mattered, none of it mattered and that was why she aligned her path so that in a mere few moments (the stench of wolf becoming stronger and stronger) the stranger would crash right into her. Or, you know, just stop politely in front of her. Same thing.

suddenly, as if she'd crawled form the earth and into her path, there is a woman in her path. once-warlord does not hesitate; the scent trail is forgotten, and she plows into the girl, hackles already jagged along her spine. her weight is thrown forward in her shoulder, fangs seeking to grab hold of the strangers scruff or the next best thing as she moves to attempt to shove her to the earth, pin her if she has the opportunity. hela is neither polite nor patient, and strangers have no good reason to suddenly appear directly before her. she has no intention of waiting to learn the silver-pelted girl's own.

Okay. Maybe that was a tad unexpected. But to be honest, it really shouldn't have been and Saarthal cursed at herself for that. She should never have been caught off guard. But really - was she that upset about it? Teeth on her scruff, a woman on top of her. Granted, the treatment was a bit rough but she wasn't picky. Sometimes, she liked that. "Ugh," Saarth said, grimacing lightly as pain snaked its way through her body. The jagged reverberations from the impact of being thrown onto the ground jolted through her and she let out a groan mised with a sort of vaguely maniacal laughter. "You like it rough, don't you?"