Word Count » 326
She did not understand the words he spat at her, but she could feel their heat and smell their acrid venom on the very air. Her muzzle wrinkled at the very sound of them, chartreuse fire burning in her eyes, smoldering and slow in contrast to the explosive red-orange in his own gaze. There was a step toward her, but the coal hybrid held her ground, not so much twitching as tightening as she straightened to a proper height from her casual slouch, ears sweeping forward and head held high. Already, she was a sight taller than him in her Optime form, but she held no pretenses about her ability to defend herself. That task had fallen to Larkspur previously, and if he chose to turn on her, she would certainly be at the mercy of his fangs or the quickness of her other packmates. Sirius would defend her, she thought. Perhaps not -- it would have served her finely for the members of Salsola to find their loyalties with the pack rather than its replaceable Auxiliary.
“Piss on your gods,” she said, entirely calmly. She held no respect for his gods or anyone else's; those in Eterne were false, as were any others the hybrid had discovered. Her magic and her sight was more powerful than any sway the absentee gods held over the world. If anything, they had made the world and walked away -- she could attribute that alone to them. Maybe all the world was a creation of man and nothing more. Eris could not say. The only thing she knew definititively was that she bowed to no god and gave none credence. If any, the god she worshipped was one of pleasure, and this was not so much compulsory for the sable hybrid than instinctive and self-indulged. “They didn't do this for us, we did,” she asserted. “They are yours,” she said. There was no insistence in her voice, only certainty.
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