08-19-2009, 04:59 AM
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Table by Mel
For too long, there was nothing in the coyote's head but that thing that had surfaced inside of her. It was the same monster that had taken her before. It was the same blinding black thing that dimmed her vision yet made her see everything in sharp, brilliant focus, the very same which made her limbs feel as if they were made of cold steel yet light and airy in movement, the same thing which ripped her consciousness away and gave rise to a creature made of sheer instinct and visceral, radiating anger. He was moving after her now, the blow glancing off of his muzzle and leaving streaked red behind. Through the red-hot pain slicing into her neck and shoulder, the coyote did not retreat, but moved forward. Weight on the leg caused more agony, but the thing which had taken over Kaena was similarly fueled by adrenaline, locked into a battle for its life and unwilling to concede a decade of consciousness for this, here. She was no stranger to pain—the myriad of old wounds crossing her body spoke that clearly enough. There was nothing new here for the coyote. Even the missing flesh over her neck—the shiny scar on her belly was deadlier and fresh. Still, she was lucky he had caught the fleshier part of her neck. Certainly, though the wound was painful and it would be a bitch to heal, it was not fatal—not unless she were to suffer an infection. His fangs came for her scarred face, and the coyote jerked her head back and tilted the right side toward him, that already heavily-damaged side of her head with the missing eye and the torn ear hoping to absorb the blow rather than her almost-whole right side. His body was pushing against hers, his claws meeting her own as her large Secui paw swept outwards toward him in a half-blind swing, having sacrificed her view of him momentarily to send his fangs glancing off of her cheek, one of them striking her in the center of the crescent-shaped scar below her missing eye, the fang slicing shallowly off of the already marred flesh there and down an inch or two through her cheek. The coyote took her chance in that instant, even as she felt his teeth graze her cheek and his size push against her smaller frame. There was his throat, flashing creamy and pale against the drab brown color of the rest of him, and her teeth went for it, writhing lips pulled back fully to expose those sallow, ancient fangs. Years later and they were still deadly—even through the mane of his halfling morph, if she held him well enough she might be able to choke the life from him. With his weight bearing on her, it was perhaps the only chance she had before he overtook her. There was again that flooding sense of urgency, that dim, slow thought from the coyote's sleeping consciousness. There was only darkness now, the grizzled hybrid departed and the creature of war at the helm. |