[/html]As ever, her father's words echoed softly in the back of her head while all other thoughts fled to accommodate the focus and attention needed to move quickly, strike quickly, react quickly, everything quickly. You must not judge, Cassandra. Other cultures were different from hers. Other canines' beliefs and ideals were different from hers. Their differences could be reconciled and there did not need to be violence. But the truth of the world was that believing was for children. Everyone was wrong. But some were more wrong than others, and there were paradigms to shift and egos to crush and justices to serve.
The albino woman always expected the possibility of missing her blows, but it surprised her when the jackal was lucky enough to blindly grab her incoming wrist -- and in just the right angle that made it difficult for her to drive the blade through his fingers or palm. But Cassandra did not give him long enough to think of what to do with her thin wrist. Her body followed the motion started by her hand and arm, half-stepping, half-leaping over the fallen deer. She lowered her head, jaws wide, and lounged for the jackal's chest. She would tear a pretty ring off his nipple and wonder if he found the pain even distantly erotic.
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