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ooc:No strike taken.
The mist of dream hung heavy around her, masking all but the ashen ground beneath her paws. A notion of purpose, of need to escape drove the clouded mind from its frightened recesses into the present circumstance. She trapped within her dream. Knowing the route to escape she sought it, lead by sensation alone to find this obstacle that kept her from the waking world. She sickening stench of malice stained the air, of dark intent, or her own fear. Absent from body, she strove to meet her opponent, celestial beams cutting through the hanging mist.
But where? Where was he? The sixth sense only guided her so far. Touch experience the change in plain, the ground gave way to gravel and rock, sharp against her tattered pads making her steps lighter and uneven. Was this path the wrong? She ceased her blind wanderings and turned swiftly to an adjacent direction. The rocks smoothed to lush grasses, cushioning her hasten steps and encouraging her progression. This path was correct, the essence of this nameless presence grew stronger.
A beacon parted the grey, a spiral of clear air swirled about the she-wolf spreading out but a little to grant her sight in the distance. And there, a warm sight betrayed by the touch of scars prowling the land in search of her. Sapphire gleamed in the clearing, baring ill-intently at all and nothing. Slick rubbers peeled back unveiling sharpened daggers of ivory and strength of steel. This was him. Uncertainty was a luxury not afforded at this moment, nor would be fear if she wished to escape this dreadful place with her life and limbs still attached.
A bellow of challenge tore from her lungs, a deathly ratter rising in octave as the she-wolf bent to attain a steadier stance. Russet fur bristled not in rage but defense. A threat on her life had been placed, though unspoken but was felt by the aura exhibited by this hostile fiend. She would not allow this to come willingly. Should a battle be what he desired, then one he would receive.
Words: 348
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