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The skull itself was not particularly intimidating in the hybrid woman’s eyes, but she knew that softer souls looked at the clan’s borders with repulsion in their dumb eyes. But the dead heads on top of their pikes represented something greater, and the Centurion firmly believed that they did their part in keeping the majority of unintelligent wanderers away. It was almost a shame, for Halo dearly loved to parade her hostility and wave with her blade. While the clan was small compared to the packs around it and peace was important for their survival, it was not what she wished. She still wished to become the nightmare spreading fear through the wolven population. ”They warn other wolves to stay away,” she answered as a light frown tugged at the corners of her lips.
The child shook its head at her question, and served her reasons before Halo’s voice could rise to investigate. Ah, very well. There was no pity for the young child. Life was full of pain and suffering, and the Infernian knew this better than most. She had received her own share of tragedy, and she was certain there was much more where it came from. The weight remained heavy on her shoulders, but the woman no longer cared to look back at what had happened. No more self-pity. ”And what about you?” she asked; quietly wondering if a father was in the picture. ”Where they your brothers, the puppies that ran away?” The young yet pitiful creatures had fled the scene, but this one girl had remained—had even dared to lash out with a sharp tongue at one of the infamous clan’s most deadly members.
Your faith walks on broken glass
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