Run, baby, run.

[Skoll]

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Skoll was friends with Melisande's mom! Just figured that out. He had been kneeling by the Yawrah, taking his fill, when he saw three figures off in the distance. They all looked diminutive, though they were still some distance off, but he could clearly make out the forms of a wolf and two pumas. The mountain lions weren't full grown, he could tell by their proportions, probably not even ready to head out on their own yet. What were they doing away from their mother? Rising from his kneel, he began to run to meet them. It was rather comical, two cougar-cubs chasing a wolf, but the fleeing female was small for a wolf, and the cats were a nasty breed to mess with. Had they been older, he may have been unable to deal with two of them. They were usually smart enough to back off from someone as big as he was, but a mixture of feline arrogance and lethal natural weapons often made them confident enough to test their luck, and if he were only armed with his own natural weapons, two full-grown cougars would be right to be confident of their chances. Still, against the two juveniles, a werewolf of his size was overkill. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to sit back and let them have their fun with a wolfess of Bleeding Souls. The eight foot bronze werewolf planted his feet as Melisande ran past him, and released a menacing growl deeper and more sonorous than either of the cats could yet create. His scarred and ravaged visage warped into a fierce snarl around his fangs as his hackles bristled. Even though his life wasn't in danger against the small cats, he still would prefer not to fight them. Unlike wolves, every size cat had the potential to hurt a larger animal without much problem. They with lithe and their claws were sharp enough to pierce the skin with no effort at all. They weren't all equally dangerous, but came out of a fight with any cat a scratching post. Disheartened, one of the cats took flight for several paces before turning back to look at its brother, urging him to follow. The other cat hissed back, though, giving no ground, though it would not approach any closer. The two were at a standoff, then: the small feline that breached no more than seventy pounds, against the six-year-old eight foot monster of a were. The cat was outweighed four times, but his pride was strong, and for half a minute he stayed frozen in place, staring daggers at this interloper. Skoll drew his war-knife, and took a step forward. The cat broke, fleeing back to his brother, and the two ran back northward, toward the Tranquil Springs where they had made their home. Something must have happened to their mother, Skoll thought, putting his knife away. Two cats of that age shouldn't be on their own, especially not if they're in the habit of accosting wolves. Turning to the tiny white wolfess, he sat down, attempting to make speech less awkward(given his head was so high off the ground), and gave what he hoped was a warm smile, hoping to smooth out the bestial appearance he'd created moments before. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you, did they?" The gruffness in his voice wasn't something he could remove, but he hoped she knew he meant well. ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.

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