Raw anger… the taste for vengeance… repercussions for the violent act done to so innocent a creature as the white wolfess; the Nomad could only think of those things even as she fought to calm herself and find something rational to this madness. But there was none to be found. The calm adorned upon her muzzle was but a fragile mask already chipping away with each angered twitch of her lips. The Exultare prided themselves on their mental fortitude, able to keep a cool head even when the atrocious acts of others roused their desire for violence. She was certainly proving their skill this day, but she was near shaming them once her tawny companion spoke.
X’yrin did not hear, but felt the words as they were spoken. Each syllable painted a painful image, each venom word poisoning her ears with the tale of how harm came to their friend. Cutting…carving… Claws could not have done something as that and rarely was the damage described as such. Only those infected that favored tools beyond their own teeth and claws took materials that warranted such descriptions. And dog… The woman felt her ears perk up and eyes grow wide with alarm. Her angered gaze cut to the ice blues of her student. “Dog?” She growled softly, testing the water of her assumption before delving in completely.
The woman was not prejudice in nature, in her eyes all were equal and warranted the same earned respect. But she had her silent reservations about their more domesticated kin, favoring clothing and more humanoid status than retaining their primal forms. Carrying themselves as if there was something to prove… Deplorable. The female wrinkled her nose in disdain, lengthy incisors flashing as quivering lips briefly unsheathed the perilous fangs then just as quickly veiled them again. With difficultly, the woman continued to breathe, fighting with what strength she could muster to reclaim her calm and think clearly. She could not allow herself to get emotionally. Knowing herself far better than any other, she knew her capabilities and what he heart would lead her to do.
But the life she led was not for herself any longer, for it was bound as well the lives of Ichika. Her actions would not just be looked upon as her own, but as a reflection of this peaceful pack. Their reputation would be tarnished if she was not careful. And so she breathed again, inhaling the cool winter air then exhaled the heat of her anger. “Kiara is fortunate that she has a friend to pray for her,” the warrior spoke softly. “I will sing and bid that the ancestors watch of her and deliver her from the dangers that lie ahead.” Carefully, she brought a clawed digit to her nose in gesture of an inquiry, a curiosity that need be appeased.
“You attacked this dog Vesper… and I am grateful to you for coming to Kiara’s aid when you did. But I must ask you; this dog… what did she look like?”