that crown don't make you a prince
#9
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Of course; I won’t give her any wounds that you don’t allow me to!


The somewhat-familiar rush of dark satisfaction flooded through her once her attack seemed to work out alright. The wolf seemed dazed from the suddenness of the attack, allowing her darting head to reach the shoulder. She felt her teeth penetrate through fur, skin, though not going any deeper than that. Blood rushed up to meet her, but not enough to say that she had hit anything meaningful or long-lasting — no cut muscles, chipped bones, slashed arteries. Not to say that that was what Nikita was aiming for — she was half-way in the middle of a thought to go for a more vital area when the wolf shifted weight suddenly. Instead of going with the attack, which might have ended up in more fierce wounds inflicted by the coyote, she leaned towards her. Clever… Nikita thought to herself, her violent train of thought broken.


Something snapped inside of her, and immediately began to fight against the desire to inflict harm. This was not what a new pack needed — the reputation of savaging anyone who wandered in, even if they did bad-mouth the leaders. Though every muscle in her body wanted to go once more for another attack, her mind shut each and every one down. Rigidness seeped from her muscles and, a moment from the wolf perhaps collapsing on top of her from this, she pushed herself away from the wolf with her front legs. Her eyes were narrowed, though more in fierce concentration than anger. She was fighting to keep herself from fighting.


She ignored the words, the body language, everything. She restricted her thoughts to include only herself. “Leave,” she growled lowly, opening that restriction for a moment. “Leave. Now.” This time, it was a warning, but also had the tiniest shred of a plea. She did not want to fight the wolf any more, but, if she didn’t leave, it would be more of a leader protecting a land than a coyote attacking a bad-mouthing wolf.
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