The wolf fell. Salvia snarled triumphantly, golden claws searching for purchase in the soft back. She became aware of the difference between her and the thing that had once been her sister. Wretch was soft, weak. It was as if she had never done manual labor, never known what it was to work. Her eyes trailed to the flowers and this simple, stupid act doubled the rage that coursed through her tiger’s blood. Ivory teeth parted as the girl began to shriek, and Salvia snarled, tongue lolling.
A hand rose up and swatted at Salvia’s face. It was a light touch, like the strike of a child. Both paws curled and gripped at the pale girl’s shoulders. Hind legs shifted against the ground, but her true desire was not to simply hold her there. It was to kill. Bellowing, the painted girl bared her teeth and pulled her head back. With a sudden jerk she threw her head down, aiming for the neck. If she made purchase she could break the neck. Then this battle of gods would end.
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