One singular moment had radically changed Salvia. She had been horrified at Sirius’ revelation, but it was one that came with a great and terrible knowledge. Her oath was not to her mother—it was to him, to her King. In her heart she would hold her blood strong, but stronger still was the devotion to the Hunter. This fanatical thought had been her motivation in the past few weeks, and it had left her body and mind in a strange place indeed.
Her weight had reached a plateau. While she ate, and ate heartily, a metabolism made for a larger body than the one her mother’s bloodline had offered was fast consuming. Each activity burnt away her fat, leaving her body lacking in softness. Truly, her thick pelt hid such truth, but to touch her was to touch a hunting cat. Where her brother grew massive and mighty, she held to a svelte frame. Under her plush fur was a tiger made of steel and fury, however. Already she had wounded an Inferni coyote severely, and though she had truly wished to kill him, the fact he had fled gave her power as well.
Duties, too, had been refocused. She was close, and oh so very close, but she needed time. For now, though, she worked on her main duties. Combat training with Tlanti had ceased now that she was ill, and Salvia had only Pandemic (when he was not oogling their sisters) to work with. She was outside of the borders now, and moving only because she could not stand stillness. Chaos was in her blood.
A strange sound drew her to the coast. Laughter? She followed it, a pale wraith, and was surprised to see a wolf looking half (or mostly) drowned on the shoreline. Salvia felt no sympathy. A product of her upbringing, she judged wholly and without mercy. Weakness, even at the hands of the inevitable, was a reason to think of this woman as less. With her body tense, she approached and knelt. The she-wolf was not dead, but she was wounded and freezing.
One hand lowered and touched the rippled, hard lines of muscle along the shadow’s back. “What a pity,” she muttered.
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