03-10-2012, 07:06 PM
((OOC: Sorry for taking a while, I keep rewriting this.))
When the dog pulled away, Alma realized how close she had almost been to losing the use of her hands. A shudder ran through her when she imagined that she would never be able to use a bow, or carve wood. She retracted her claws and balled her hands into fists, so that it would be harder for her attacker to break the bones in her hands, should she try that again.
Instinctively, Alma took a defensive stance, spreading her feet apart and bending her knees so she would be harder to knock over. Her fur stood on end. Her tail was tucked between her legs - not in submission, but to protect her belly and everything below it. She had hunted enough to know that an attack to the stomach was a slow and painful death. Her arms rose up to protect her chest.
Her thoughts racing, the coyote's mind went through her options: Running away alone, without either saving the coyote or his puppies was out of the question. The sound of the pups' whining alone had ruled out that idea; she couldn't leave them alone with this monster. She could continue to fight and hope that she would somehow kill or knock her opponent out so she could drag the poor coyote-father away to her clan's grounds. Or, perhaps, she could pick up the pups and -then- run away. However, Alma already knew from experience that a wolf in its four-legged form was faster than one on two-legs, and she had no time to shift.
The weight of her adversary's body caused the her stance to waver. She dug her hindclaws into the ground, somehow managing to maintain her balance. Her reflexes were not quick enough to prevent her arm being caught. Teeth dug past her fur and into her skin. The coyote yelped once more, then ground her own teeth together to stifle her cries. Without thinking of whether it would cause her opponent to clamp down harder, Alma tried to wrest her arm out of her assailant's grip.
When the dog pulled away, Alma realized how close she had almost been to losing the use of her hands. A shudder ran through her when she imagined that she would never be able to use a bow, or carve wood. She retracted her claws and balled her hands into fists, so that it would be harder for her attacker to break the bones in her hands, should she try that again.
Instinctively, Alma took a defensive stance, spreading her feet apart and bending her knees so she would be harder to knock over. Her fur stood on end. Her tail was tucked between her legs - not in submission, but to protect her belly and everything below it. She had hunted enough to know that an attack to the stomach was a slow and painful death. Her arms rose up to protect her chest.
Her thoughts racing, the coyote's mind went through her options: Running away alone, without either saving the coyote or his puppies was out of the question. The sound of the pups' whining alone had ruled out that idea; she couldn't leave them alone with this monster. She could continue to fight and hope that she would somehow kill or knock her opponent out so she could drag the poor coyote-father away to her clan's grounds. Or, perhaps, she could pick up the pups and -then- run away. However, Alma already knew from experience that a wolf in its four-legged form was faster than one on two-legs, and she had no time to shift.
The weight of her adversary's body caused the her stance to waver. She dug her hindclaws into the ground, somehow managing to maintain her balance. Her reflexes were not quick enough to prevent her arm being caught. Teeth dug past her fur and into her skin. The coyote yelped once more, then ground her own teeth together to stifle her cries. Without thinking of whether it would cause her opponent to clamp down harder, Alma tried to wrest her arm out of her assailant's grip.