But this is not justice

Ralla · 10-17-2011, 08:36 PM

[html]

(Nootau: Visible)

It was here: The final day.

The dawn would be stained red after the battle: This much Ralla could tell, looking at the shadows in the distance that would be Crimson Dreams and Cour des Miracles. With a glancing thought she wondered if her brother would be counted amongst those numbers; if her children were left alone with another in the pack--perhaps Strelein, if he had not come to liberate the hostages--and if she would meet her brother on the battlefield in the mud and mire. The white mother, as Maska was speaking, was looking out from atop her home-tree, a fire burning at the end of her fire-staff, which had proven strong and useful for battle. She did not plan on directly fighting the battle, but would instead protect those of her family who were not to be harmed--those in the other packs included. She knew her daughter had similar thoughts, and with a worried stare she looked to where the Warriors and tribesmen were gathered, spotting the pure white among all the other, darker coats that signaled Ayasha's presence. For her, Ralla worried most of all: She was young, inexperienced (as far as Ralla knew) and had insisted and fought against Ralla's wishes that she not participate in this battle. But her daughter had been called, and could not be spared (or so the Guardian had insisted). Should Ayasha die, Ralla wouldn't know what to do with herself--other than reap Hell and high water upon those responsible, friend or foe.

Still, Ralla's inner fire was finally at its peak: She would release an inferno upon these Guardians and turn the odds in the other packs' favor, for, although they were great in number, the Guardians and Warriors were very strong, and Ralla bet that some of them could fight twice their number given this chance.

All too soon, Ralla heard Maska's war-cry, and the tribe was off to the battle. With her fire-staff as a lantern, Ralla trapezed through the tree's branches, skillfully keeping the fire from lighting as she finally hit the ground, a soft, hollow thump the only indicator that there had been someone to drop from such a height. Where her strength failed, Ralla's speed and agility were her assets, and she would use these to her full advantage. In her red paint, the white wolfess was already decorated for war; she would bring her fire to full-force out there, where the poisoned raven would fall and where she could prove her worth. Behind her, Nootau flew above, her own guardian and assurance of protection. They were silent, but would soon be heard.

Moon walks. "Moon talks." Moon thinks.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?