Word Count :: 573
The silver-shaded woman meandered out of her cave, breathing in the air. There was renewed vigor to the old woman; it would seem her wounds had finally healed. Even so, there was still just that slight drag in her leg, and this would never leave her. Her body could not heal this injury all the way, and thus she would bear this limp until the end of her days. It was not so noticable, though, and the silvery woman had already adjusted to it, bearing more weight on her other three legs to decrease its appearance even more. When she walked in her Optime form, it was not even apparent, for it was her foreleg that was affected, and her foreleg became her arm.
Still, such a thing was a weakness, and her opponents would seek to exploit this weakness if they could—the silver-shaded woman knew this quite well. Gazing out over the ocean that fronted her own cave, the hybrid contemplated nothing. Indeed, she kept her mind as perfectly blank and careful as possible, for she could not bear the thought of the immediate future. Gabriel was a strong man and a smart man, but he was also a caring man, and the silver-shaded woman knew what she meant to him. Even if he did not show it all the time, there was love between them—twisted and strained from the years they had been apart, but love nonetheless. She could be put down, she could lose her rank to be shunted back to some position of respect but no authority—the hybrid desired nothing of the sort.
She would serve her clan until she could do so no longer, and in her heart and mind, Kaena had convinced herself she was still fit for this position. Was such a thing true? Perhaps, but of course, the scarred Centurion's perspective was slanted in her own favor. Her mind was mostly sound, though her memory was beginning to go, and she was mostly physically capable, though she would avoid fighting unless she had to. Perhaps it would be better for the clan for her to step down, even—but who would take her place? Though she loved Halo dearly, the young girl was not ready for such a position, and especially not at such a fragile time in her life. Snake was not a leader—the tawny wolf was a soldier, one meant to be commanded. Hybrid was much the same, but with much less calculated cunning, and much more violent rage.
The hybrid woman lifted her muzzle, catching a familiar scent she had not seen as of late—Sepirah. Though she knew by scent the sable-shaded woman was still within Inferni's borders, the hybrid had not seen much of her lately, and assumed she was simply settling into the clan. Now, with a wince, the coyote realized she should have pursued after the youth, seeking her to find out how she was getting along. Injury had hampered her mobility, however, and she had not moved unless duty compelled her to or she was treating her wounds; the coyote meandered after the scent, entering the caves with hopes that Sepirah would understand this. A smile crossed the old hybrid's face at the sight of the sable woman, curled up on the floor of one of the unoccupied caverns. “What has you so down?” the woman asked, her voice gentle in its teasing.
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