For a moment they all seemed to freeze as the tension danced in-between the two hostile groups. The heart throbbed faithfully against her ribcage and she knew she would not falter here and now when it was her family and clan she was fighting for. The soft tones of her twin sword lingered in her sensitive ears and she let her ruby eyes close for just a moment as she took a last full breath. Her dazzling orbs opened almost lazily as she focused on the largest wolf in the group, the one dressed in a mixture of black, white and orange. She squinted at the lowly being and let her brilliantly white canines flash in a quiet challenge before she moved lightly on strong limbs, swinging the glorious katana as if it weighted no more than a feather. In truth it did not – it was a part of her as much as every part of her body did. They were inseparable, and she was eager to learn exactly how hard it would be to cut the large Dahlian to bits. A tranquil smile danced on her pretty face, anticipating honour and glory.

        
She hoped she would never learn this man’s name, for her victims did not need more than faces to hunt her dreams successfully. This would be her first true battle and instead of focusing utterly on the moment, Halo’s thoughts swivelled back to a lonely tree surrounded by dancing snow flakes. She had known peace then. Just for a while.

Larkspur did not know war, but he knew battle as well as he knew his faith. Since his birth, the man had fought to survive—and he had done so and prospered. Lowering his center of gravity, elbows bending, the wolf held his ground. The coyotes began to move, and Lark watched as the girl with the sword approached him. Every step she took intensified the whispering voice from the can tah, and the D’Angelo listened. His eyes turned hazy, but they never left the coyote as she neared him. Her smile spoke to him more loudly then the singing sword, and it was only then he moved.

Without a sound, the large wolf ran at her. He opened his mouth and snapped, but his throw was wide and did not aim for her in any particular fashion. Rather, as he passed, he used his weight and slammed into her lithe legs, seeking to throw her off balance. That sword was the most dangerous part of the girl, and Larkspur had no intention of facing it head on. He passed her, turned, and once more dropped to an almost playful bow. There was no noise, no snarl, only the orange Jack-O-Lantern eyes and a toothy grin.

         Her blade’s first dance step had not been to pierce, as such a bold move rarely ever succeeded anywhere but in stories. He was fast though, coming at her and she shifted and withdrew from his snapping fangs, yet they had not been well aimed at any part of her. This was twisting to a very different scene the moment his jagged teeth had shone dimly in the shimmering spring light. Those teeth could saw through her and cause her life blood to escape from her. He was also faster than she had anticipated, but there would be no underestimating from her side from this moment on. His body partly crashed into her legs, but the girl was already on her way down into a crouch and let a hand temporarily find support in the hard ground before she shifted and turned with the sword hovering between the two beings, gathering her legs once again as she, finding his grin inappropriate yet paid it no more mind after establishing that fact.

        
Her body was not allowed to find stillness as long as she was engaged in battle, and her feet moved her slowly sideways in a similar pattern to that of that usual half circle enemies seem so fond to make while interacting with enemies. Her sensitive feet made out every inch of the ground she was walking, securing her hold of earth with a certainty and grace only dancers should. And she was a dancer. She closed in on the male, held the sword steadily between them in a turned angle that let the sword silently promise that blood would be shed if the male charged at her. She lashed out then at his form with the slightly curved weapon, a move meant to harm, yet her range was limited because the blade’s main objective was still to protect its owner against a direct dash at her form. The flat palm connected to the hand not holding the sword rested forcefully by the edge of the sharp sword, on the flat side, intent on supporting the sword in its task if the salt and pepper male was to try to try to have a go at her sides.

He was not fighting for his life; he was not fighting for the woman and her child. Larkspur did not believe he belonged to his pack, and for this reason, he put no value into this combat. For this reason, the D’Angelo was playing a game—a dangerous one, no doubt, but a game none the less. From between his teeth a pink tongue was exposed, tasting the toiled dirt and the steel in the air. Orange eyes narrowed, focusing on the shining blade as she moved it. There was no direct action from the girl yet, for she circled him. Larkspur mimicked the movement, his head low, white tipped tail a flag behind him. In battle, the can tah did not whisper.

It screamed.

Yet he was silent. Larkspur’s muscles tightened, reading her body language. Her motions were trained, fluid, as lithe as a hunting cat. Then, suddenly, he rushed forward again. Lark feigned once again for her side, and sought to throw his weight into her legs.

         Halo was supposed to fight for Kaena, but all it required was that this man would not get to harm her leader and matriarch, not to actually slice up and destroy him. Well, perhaps she wanted just that, but while she meant she had lived most of her life involved in conflict, the first true battle was today and this man in front of her was all wolf and enemy in the truest sense. She let her teachers’ words enter her mind as the two opponents slowly circled. She was a coyote and she had both speed and a sharp blade at her disposal. This was not Anselm or the occasional tree. As long as her nerves were in check, she could easily do it. For months and months and months she had dedicated three hours to whole days in pursuit of sharpening her overall battle skills. She was ready for this – already more dangerous that most opponents she was to face. This man was large, but she was a warrior. A fighter.

        
He rushed forward once again and the blade moved accordingly. Only that he feigned once again, but the weight was already on her other leg and a clawed foot swung up to meet his body and her blade roared with its silvery tones as it too swung in pursuit of the black, white and blonde target.

         Her heart pace let everything continue to make sense. This woman was born to be a killer, yet she had not activated the genetic madness that could offer her what she had dreamt of for so long. She did not have the time to feel pleased as her foot pounded into him, but he seemed oblivious to it. She had kept her footing this time though, and the sword danced smoothly through the air and tasted the wolf’s face. It was both a pleasant and terrible sound as it softly dug into the wolf like butter, this despite it being nothing more than a smooth whisper. Nostrils flared with the freshly shed molecules dancing through the heating air and her lips drew back further; tasting the madness she should have been able to possess with ease in the back of her throat. It burned hotter than the strongest fire liquid.

        
Then fear found her at last.

        
The man’s mighty chest rumbled and she could so easily recognize the fires dancing in the man’s vivid orange orbs. He did not turn and flee. Her sword had continued to stretch out, but the wolf’s face was suddenly very close. Air whistled through her exposed teeth as large teeth snapped after her. He was again unexpectedly quick, but she was quicker. She would have to believe in that. She was a coyote and she would be like lightning. Her arm twisted and she attempted to land her elbow in the man’s face, but her instincts had not been quick enough to avoid sharp edges from ripping through her skin. Again she kicked out; aiming whatever force she could come up with to land at his chest. She needed the distance, could not allow him to remain this close. The sword was on it’s way again; awkwardly slicing for the tip of his front legs--her current aim was so limited as those wolf teeth crunched down at her the way they did.

         Things should be fluid and under control, but Halo had already discovered that there was no control now. He was too close. Too close, was all that she could think when the handle of the sword hit his bulky form to no use. Blood tickled her nostrils and she resisted an urge to sneeze and wrinkle her muzzle. What was wrong with her? Her arm burned and it terrified her that she did not have the time to check out the injury. There was no time for anything. His orange gaze glowed with anger now, and her own seemed to be feeling up with that darkness that could lock down a person’s body with trembling shivers fuelled by that deceitful fear. She couldn’t let this continue. His front limbs remained intact and she almost believed him to be retreating when he shot back at her. His fangs were suddenly too close and she turned her face away from the sharp teeth when they went for her skin. She felt the skin break on her cheek and held her breath, realizing that she could die. She could not turn into a statue – not now! Kaena’s voice suddenly rang in her ears and she pushed her sword in-between herself and the enormous wolf and let it swing threatening against his chest as she stepped backwards. Suddenly the blade twisted unexpectedly and shot at his face before she turned and gathered all the speed there was to carry her away from this beast and back to Inferni. She believed she had felt a pinch of resistance when she had waved her sword’s sharp edge in the male’s face, but she did not pause to check. It was over.