it was funness!
The forest floor dug into her knees as all her weight pressed against it. Roughly, the woman rose from her knees, delicately brushing off the detritus and smoothing away the scrapes. They were light, thankfully, considering her pelt was such a thick mess. Isabella felt the sting in her cuts and wounds, and her body ached fiercely from the combat. She was not trained to be a warrior, dodging and fighting other canines to their deaths. Her body was trained to bend underneath the hands of other men and women, or bend theirs in turn. Knives in hand were easy enough to handle, but the damage to her own body was more than enough to show she was no fighter.
Isabella gingerly touched the slash across her shoulder and collar. It stung, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as wet, crimson blood came away with her finger tips. She solemnly gazed at it, her electric eyes no longer storming. Her body felt dull, even as she turned to hear her name called by her King. She wanted to let her shoulders sag and her body crumple against a solid wall of stone. Yet, even in the presence of her bloodied and wounded King, she could not let her image falter. The gypsy flicked her hair, ignoring the painful sting of dark locks touching her wound.
Her face fell at the sight of the mighty King of Salsola. His blood spilled from so many wounds to his dangerously large body. He was not dead, but his body was so dreadfully ravaged. His words brought more crimson from his lips, and the woman stood before him, knowing she could do nothing. Isabella knew Sirius would not ask for help, though perhaps she ought to risk consequences and help anyway. "Alive, my King," confirmed the gypsy, glancing at the black and white woman. Sirius addressed her and Isabella pursed her lips as she unwrapped the thick silk length of cloth around her waist. Slowly, she approached the King and attempted to press it against the worst of his wounds.
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