The meeting with Ataxia had left a sour taste in Salvia’s mouth. She was distinctly aware of the drives of instinct; destroy the threats and ensure her own place would not be threatened. Yet the pack law would not allow her to fall back into such primeval behavior. She had to protect her family, regardless of whether or not she desired otherwise. Perhaps, she reflected, it would be better to simply lead the children into following her. Pandemic had fallen in line. The others could too.
Pale feet carried her through the forest, moving with the fast pace that spoke of agitation. Her retracted claws left her steps silent, though she walked differently than most wolves. Canines, in particular, gripped the earth and tore it up behind them. Her step was made with wide-splayed toes and weight balanced in such a way there was scarcely a track left behind. Yet her body was tense and her ears back, blonde hair loose and flowing. She wore the woven belt and its accessories on broadening hips, though they were hardly wide enough to speak of motherhood, as her mother’s did. She was growing into her body though, and it was apparent.
Alone, she stalked through the underbrush and moved without purpose. Aggression carried her and made her thoughts turn disjointed, irritable.
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