08-17-2009, 10:53 AM
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She coughed viciously when the ability came back to her, rolling to the side as her bruised ribs protested, and she stood quickly. Blood had spilled across the left side of her head and over her eye, forcing her to close it and therefore taking away both a chunk of her vision and her necessary depth perception. Like that, Valkyrie was mostly useless.
The ram was a stupid animal when compared with Luperci, but it wasn't dumb enough to know she wasn't a threat anymore. Any wolf near a herd of anything — thought it was beginning to retire and her prey, now a bully upon her, was growing restless by the moment — was always to be taken as a threat, and prey animals knew this better than any.
It snorted and was about to take another run at her when a canine roar (perhaps somewhat mangled by both fury and intention) broke the stillness, and it found its next opponent already at a run.
Anselm was a magnificent creature, a coyote that, of yet, had little to no match for brilliance. His coat was like wildfire to the golden hybrid child — it sparkled in the sun, a hazelnut-red with hints of gold and caramel-cream all swirled into one tasty batch of Anselm — with splashes of black to break the mold. Like most canines he was lighter at the cheeks, the chin, and the belly, but that was not what had attracted her attention. On the back of his left arm, not far above the wrist, was a bright red tattoo.
She had no idea what it meant, but it matched his eyes impeccably, and she momentarily wished she could have one, too. Many of the clan members had the Chaos Star symbol, but she was not to receive that when she came of age, either.
She watched with some astonishment as Anselm took the young ram — likely readying itself for its first rut ever — head-on. It was a bold move, something she would probably never have dared, but he must've done it before. That, or he was a very strategic coyote, and simply knew tricks she couldn't imagine ever learning.
All she really saw was the beast connecting with her grandfather, who she hardly knew but in talk anyway, and then the beast crumpling to the ground as Anselm leaned on one arm, muttering to himself.
Ignoring the cut in her head — the blood would become sticky and dry in time, and it wasn't deep nor, she somehow determined, fatal — Valkyrie pushed herself forward, her bulky form slowly streamlining and shortening until she was in her Lupus form.
Nobody had ever told her it was potentially dangerous to shift with an injury, but nothing seemed to happen when she did.
Are you all right? she asked when she got near Anselm. She gritted her teeth a little as she thumped back to the ground and observed his arm pressed against his stomach, and she wished briefly that she had some sort of painkiller on her for his benefit. Is there anything I can do? she then asked, meeting his eyes with an innocence there that had always been a part of who Valkyrie was, a need for direction to be given and not derived from assumption. And, of course, she was willing to take any command he may give her.
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She coughed viciously when the ability came back to her, rolling to the side as her bruised ribs protested, and she stood quickly. Blood had spilled across the left side of her head and over her eye, forcing her to close it and therefore taking away both a chunk of her vision and her necessary depth perception. Like that, Valkyrie was mostly useless.
The ram was a stupid animal when compared with Luperci, but it wasn't dumb enough to know she wasn't a threat anymore. Any wolf near a herd of anything — thought it was beginning to retire and her prey, now a bully upon her, was growing restless by the moment — was always to be taken as a threat, and prey animals knew this better than any.
It snorted and was about to take another run at her when a canine roar (perhaps somewhat mangled by both fury and intention) broke the stillness, and it found its next opponent already at a run.
Anselm was a magnificent creature, a coyote that, of yet, had little to no match for brilliance. His coat was like wildfire to the golden hybrid child — it sparkled in the sun, a hazelnut-red with hints of gold and caramel-cream all swirled into one tasty batch of Anselm — with splashes of black to break the mold. Like most canines he was lighter at the cheeks, the chin, and the belly, but that was not what had attracted her attention. On the back of his left arm, not far above the wrist, was a bright red tattoo.
She had no idea what it meant, but it matched his eyes impeccably, and she momentarily wished she could have one, too. Many of the clan members had the Chaos Star symbol, but she was not to receive that when she came of age, either.
She watched with some astonishment as Anselm took the young ram — likely readying itself for its first rut ever — head-on. It was a bold move, something she would probably never have dared, but he must've done it before. That, or he was a very strategic coyote, and simply knew tricks she couldn't imagine ever learning.
All she really saw was the beast connecting with her grandfather, who she hardly knew but in talk anyway, and then the beast crumpling to the ground as Anselm leaned on one arm, muttering to himself.
Ignoring the cut in her head — the blood would become sticky and dry in time, and it wasn't deep nor, she somehow determined, fatal — Valkyrie pushed herself forward, her bulky form slowly streamlining and shortening until she was in her Lupus form.
Nobody had ever told her it was potentially dangerous to shift with an injury, but nothing seemed to happen when she did.
Are you all right? she asked when she got near Anselm. She gritted her teeth a little as she thumped back to the ground and observed his arm pressed against his stomach, and she wished briefly that she had some sort of painkiller on her for his benefit. Is there anything I can do? she then asked, meeting his eyes with an innocence there that had always been a part of who Valkyrie was, a need for direction to be given and not derived from assumption. And, of course, she was willing to take any command he may give her.
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