Word Count :: 385
The borders needed attending to, the hybrid thought in her half-dazed madness. The coyote woman was still hurting to hell, and she could have taken the evening off—even so, she was beginning to heal, and this was an excuse for her to push her body. She believed movement would heal her quicker, the backwards and old beliefs of a canine raised far before basic medical advice had made itself common. Now, most canines knew rest was better that exertion, and most canines knew that salt water soaks were next to useless. Even so, the silver-shaded woman had lived this long by her principles, and she was not one that was easy to change.
A sound shattered the relative quiet, and the hybrid's ears, one perfect and still intact, the other tattered and torn, rolled toward the source, her single golden-yellow eye narrowing in suspicion. It was a sound of pain, the coyote recognized that much—heading forward at as quick a pace as her injuries would allow, she soon caught the distinctive scent of blood on the air. This hurried her more, and she dragged her injured leg a bit, stumbling over a branch as she went, catching herself before falling. A grumble emanated from the woman's throat, but she hardly paused to consider herself; the scent of blood was rather thick now, and she had identified the one beneath it. Why was Lucia hurt? The hybrid woman did not think anyone in Inferni would be stupid enough to attack her—she could always be proven wrong, however, and the leadership's retribution would be swift—she would be sure of that.
Wolf or not, Lucia was a member of the clan, and she would be treated as such—the silver-shaded coyote would punish anyone who acted with any other intentions, no doubt. Gabriel was an honorable man, and the hybrid woman knew him damn well enough to know he felt the same—if he had accepted the sable-shaded wolf to Inferni, he thought her deserving of their protection and companionship. Heading forward, the hybrid finally saw the woman, sprawled across the ground. She was unshifted from the fight, still in her hulking Secui form—shifting would be impossible until she was more healed. “Lucia,” the coyote called, her voice gruff and thick with worry.
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