I said, I cannot follow the river
of her myth; but I can
follow her sweet desert song
like a stream through the fiery hills.
Word Count → 200
Vesper might have liked to fight, might have been riddled with scars, might have been cold-hearted at times, but she was not a killer. There was no reward in spilling life blood on the ground or hearing the whimper of a dying coyote as they trembled in her jaws. There was reward in removing someone terrible from the earth, but usually she got her kicks by defeating others, letting them live, proving herself as someone who could fight but who didn’t go insane because of it. And she had a feeling that the dark brute she was locked in combat with wasn’t a bad guy; he just had some anger management issues, apparently.
So she bit down harder on his chest, at least until his large body moved unexpectedly. Vesper fell on top of him, and his hind paws drummed against her belly, knocking the breath out of her and sending her flying to the ground. She got up as quickly as she could, breathing awkwardly for a few moments before shaking her head. Now that there was space between them, she maintained that distance, padding in a semicircle around him with eyes narrowed.
“So what now?” the she-yote jeered.
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