Qeya River things change, rearrange, or so do i
Loner
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#1
All Welcome 
she'd done it.

after an entire fuckwhile of thankless slaving away, she'd finally done it.

it was some sort of deercalf she'd caught, and took two whole-ass days to haul over from the fields. it was battered and stale now, but fuck- the brute felt as if she could sell whiskers to a cat.

her tail began wagging as soon as she caught a trace of that naw-tea-quick scent, and her stiff-necked dragging quickened.

diesel finally stood on the border, excitement spiced with dread. fucking fuck, this was it. this would buy her a spot among pond-eyes' folk, so she wouldn't need spend another winter romancing frostbite and getting snow up her--

jumping onto her hindlegs, the dog gave a booming bark. this was repeated a few times, the echo of her voice pleasing her. diesel's tongue lolled out in a dumb smile.

the only kinda weird thing, now that she thought about it, was that she needed move closer to the river than before to get a good, full sniff of that pack scent. but that probably wasn't anything.

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#2
vultures followed food. and colt followed the river back to the pack's abandoned caches. 
there was enough here to feed he and the gang for a bit before they moved back to the forest. until the snow kept them where they were, he meant to range across the taiga like all of it was his own.
what halted briggs was the scent of blood — good fresh blood, or at least compared to carrion. he licked his jaws and set right in that direction at a lope.
he found a barking dog and a kill at the border. colt was familiar with dogs, he'd run enough with the canines in different gangs to be unperturbed by her non wolfness. what piqued him was her scarred and mutilated demeanour. he wanted what she had but he would not underestimate her. "they moved on," he said of the pack.
his red eyes did not leave her. he spat a stream of birch juice into the short grass.
Loner
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#3
a long wait for a reply, and when someone finally picked up the phone, the answer only raised questions.

there was a stranger to her left. diesel still dumbly smiled as she turned to him, and her head canted sideways when he said something that made no fucking sense at all.

"...'ooo'ed on?" diesel looked at the woodland - eerily quiet and scentless. she looked at the man, cough-chuckling and shaking her head. "hhack you hean hohed on, dude? they 'ash, they 'ash right here, like -" fuck, how long has it been? "-like two heeksh ago!"

did they leave on a fucking business trip??

"-hen'sh, 'hen'sh they comin' hack?"

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#4
"they ain't." colt edged closer, lured by the woman as much as the kill she had borne to the borders. "left off wit their relatives. disbanded." was she really that disappointed?
"i got a gang." he watched the canine woman. "four of us'n all, maybe three that come an' go. yew any good at killin' more than young things?"
it was a jest but also a test.
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#5
disbanded.

having no habit of keeping it closed, diesel's jaw was already slack. but now a long, long string of drool extended from it nearly to the ground, as she stared blank-gazed at this random guy.

her rage poured out sudden and intense.

"HHACK!!" the mastiff roared, barking at everything, spit flying, leaping around like a chained dog.

"hhack, hhack, hhack!!" blinded, she tore into her catch, her gift, her present - the stupid fucking thing she spent two days hauling and WEEKS hunting. mighty jaws pulled out big clumps of stale meat and brittle hair.

this lasted a bit.

when diesel stopped, it wasn't because her anger did. she stood on top of the deercalf, now looking like a pillow she'd ruined as a pup, breathing heavy, hazel eyes encircled by bulging white.

diesel snorted, and turned her head to the guy. she gave him a better look.

wolf, of course. looking like life chewed on him, until he personally pried the jaws open and bit that whore back. for all the intelligence she lacked, diesel knew a tough motherfucker when she saw one.

that he wasn't awful-looking, was a bonus.

the bitch sneered, which with her ruined face looked like a snarl.

"oh, i ain't hahh had." she rumbled, stepping off the mangled thing. "didn't think your kind knew hhat a gang wash."

the mastiff approached, with intent to make him feel her breath on his tar-dipped snout.

"hhy, lookin' hor a mashcot?" her eyes glistened with barely contained violence.

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#6
colt watched the brutish woman vent her anger and opted to spare her his mockery. this time. "my kind, hmm?" he said with a flick of his ragged lips. 
she ripped her sad offering to bits. briggs wasn't about to report that his kind would have laughed her right off this land. but he wasn't pack. and food was food.
her breath was like hot sewage. colt stepped closer until the burn of it was between his eyes. "the mascot gonna pull her weight?" he chuckled, though the crimson eyes were cold.
unless reno wanted it, colt had assumed leader. this one would be a fine addition to their small number. but only if she fell into line.
scars, muscles, nothing meant anything to wolves wronged.
Loner
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#7
she chuckled in kind, then slurped in a string of drool.

"het your assh, she 'ill." 

diesel stepped back, and sized up the wolf again.

"got a name, tar-shnout?"

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tar-snout. he rather liked it. "colt briggs," he drawled instead. "yew won't forget it, promise."
now the lechery came to the man again. here was a fine strong woman. suppose she'd entertain him a while? he looked forward to finding out, now that they'd be hunkering down together.
"yers?"
Loner
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#9
tar-snout severely underestimated her; she forgot his name before he even said it.

as for her own, her maws parted to speak, when she remembered she couldn't. what that smarmy bleach-coated fuck did to her face robbed her of not only her good wrinkles, but also own name.

the mastiff snorted, then lied.

"gun."

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#10
"awright then, gun." it suited her, suited the glinting metal around her throat and the way her teeth stood exposed in a way that was unnatural. whatever had fucked her up, colt had no doubt she had given it right back.
with no other thing to say, he set off in his usual swagger, headed for the ledge of land he had last left indra — he would gather her first and then the others, gun in tow.
Loner
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#11
diesel - now rechristened to gun for convenience - looked back at the torn-up kill. she let drool build up in her cheek, then spat a big one at it.

fuck 'em. diesel might've been ready to play nice with pansies; gun'll roll with the proper motherfuckers.

she swaggered after tar-snout, like a bull led on chain.

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