Woo! I'll leave it up to Nuki to control Verusha if that's all right. If I need to change anythin', PM me!

Word Count → 331

The ghost had led them in. They had been found. She had slipped away. And the ghost had led her once again, the ghost and a hazy white pelt beside it, running through the heart of Salsola territory toward the reek of wolves.

Blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Where had Noir—Tayui, that was her real name—gone and why? She could feel the collective purpose in Sequoia tremor, much weaker than the massive trees it had been named for. She couldn’t understand this, and now that she was in the midst of danger, only her highly-honed vigilance and mud-covered, dull coloring preventing her from being spotted. The others had raised a ruckus already, and she tentatively trusted the Salsolians to stay near them. She worked best alone, after all, and she wanted to make sure that their mission wouldn’t be for naught.

Grass plains soon made way to an expanse of forest, and with a more confident but no less cautious gait, Vesper headed into the heart of the woodlands. Paws setting down softly on snow and pine needles, she took some of the worn forest paths, stopping occasionally to roll whenever she found decay. She didn’t want any chances of her clan scent being caught by those she came across; at best that would land her a demotion, if it didn’t completely destroy the wary ties between the two northern packs or even turn allies into enemies. Her lips wrinkled as she wondered what Ezekiel’s thought process was—but then again, Salsola hid most of its dirty secrets. Her hackles flattened as she scowled and stepped onward.

The smell of extremely low-ranked canines reached her nose, and suddenly alert, the she-yote trotted toward the source. The slaves must be close—but none could be found. And then—there, the reek of an old coyote. Hunkering down in the underbrush, her muddy pelt reeking of decaying wood and stool, Vesper looked for the coyote and prayed she would remain hidden.

She isn't very experienced in this rescuin' business yet.

Word Count → 394

Footfalls announced the approach of a canine, and Vesper crouched lower as if she could press herself into the earth. Tan paws tread on the path ahead of her, and then paused. Her ears cocked forward as her nostrils flared, telling her that this was the old coyote she’d scented, a slave by her best guess. The stench of submission marked some individuals from others, and she was certainly different than the combatants that had surged to meet the intruders not a handful of minutes before—whether because of her actual standing, or where she lived, or the food she ate. It was different, and different enough for the coywolf to consider making her move. She half expected the woman to call out to her, first, from the long moments she paused as if aware of her, but the slave moved on.

The young fighter frowned, wondering how easy this would be. Certainly, stealing a slave away from a pack would be difficult, but she didn’t want to jump out and talk to this woman only to get claws to the face. Making up her mind, realizing she wouldn’t have another chance and that the Salsolans could be following her disguised scent trail, she finally crept out from under the bushes and sidled behind the coyote.

Vesper directed a low hiss at the woman, her ears swiveling before falling back as she looked at the tawny slave. “I’m here to save you,” she breathed, before realizing how childish this claim sounded. A ditzy heroine in a child’s tale would say such a thing, but now was not the particular time for more eloquent speeches.

Chancing a turn of her head, nose pointed toward the woods, she went on. “There’s fighting. I want to get you out.” Her entire body was a bundle of nerves. “I know a place to hide, outside the territory. They won’t be able to find you.” She ventured one step forward, still taut in case the slave did not understand and wanted to strike at her. She’d heard tales of such creatures becoming zombielike after years of abuse, and she held an escape route in her mind in case the elder would let up a cry.

“I’m Sparrow,” the coywolf added, her sister’s name dropping from her lips in addition to the other forced-quiet words spilling from nervously working jaws.

Yuckpost. And yes, short thread sounds fine. <3 It could even be ended here unless you wanted to post them charging after her. xD Up to youuu.

Word Count → 450

Fear lit up the slave’s eyes at mention of the fighting, and Vesper had her in. She stepped away even as the old woman grabbed for her, buying enough time to seek out the route she’d had in mind. Even doing her scouting jobs for Inferni, she hadn’t come across this out-of-the-way territory and could only guess by the sky which direction home was in. However, she had no destination; she knew that. Taking the slave to Inferni was suicidal, and so all she could do was hope the elder could keep up until they outran any pursuers and found a safe place. She wished that the other Sequoians had worked this out first—if their motives even were to free the slaves. She remembered what Tayui’s sister had claimed about revenge.

“I’ll hide you; just stay quiet and come along with me, okay?” Her voice was soft as she stepped back even more, four paws touching down silently on the ground. She would shift to her bipedal form to assist the woman in walking, but she didn’t trust her optime shape in enemy territory. For all the training she’d done under Ezekiel and X’yrin, she wasn’t an excellent fighter without her original form.

The small coywolf was about to turn when a pair of shapes ran toward them. She scrambled backwards, self-preservation kicking in as she moved to avoid the brownish coyote charging at her. The large, wolfish hybrid rushed for the slave instead, kneeing her to the ground, and sank her fangs in the old woman’s throat.

“No!” Vesper cried hoarsely, and she tried to run at the black-furred wolf, to stop her, to prey her crushing jaws from the bloodied neck—but she’d forgotten about the charging male. Claws raked through the fur on her shoulder and sent her rolling with the strength of the impact. Her world rotated, but her paws found solid ground again, and she darted underneath his next swing.

Her mind whirled. The slave was dead—she’d failed. She was going to be the next to die if she didn’t flee. Her pride might have commanded she stay and fight to the very death, but for once her instincts took over. She didn’t want to die; she didn’t want Ezekiel to know what she’d done.

The male lunged for her again viciously, but she evaded him and sprinted for the low vegetation. Her small size would be her advantage now, diving under bushes the luperci would have to wade through. It wasn’t foolproof, but it would hopefully give her enough of a head start to make it out of their territory—and she was flat out running, lungs heaving, fleeing for her life.