The arrow whizzed through the air, landing with a soft thunk into the tree, about half a foot shy of her intended mark. A frown tugged at her lips, but it was better than she’d honestly hoped for with her poor archery skills. Her distance was fine, and getting better each time she used her muscles to draw the bowstring, but her aim suffered each time; the few arrows stuck in the bushes could attest to that.
She was glad to shoulder her quiver and head toward the tree to wrench loose the arrows that had struck, grunting with the effort. After making sure they weren’t somehow damaged, she slipped them into the quiver then bent to grab at those lost in the surrounding foliage, slightly self-conscious; this was why she always practiced alone, which some of her lack of skill could be attributed to. Ever since Ithiel, Ezekiel, and Alma had shown her the basics, she’d practiced on her own ever since, and she was just now picking up where she left off. The appearance of a particular coydog had challenged her to do so, but she didn’t dwell on her reasons.
Vesper turned in the direction of the caverns, ready to stow her equipment away and perhaps call it a day, when a familiar voice called out from near the D’Neville. Her ear shot up, her hackles rising on the back of her neck, and she let out a few sharp yaps to let Helotes know she was coming. While it didn’t sound like he was in danger, she knew she couldn’t dillydally. Bow in hand, she moved briskly in her optime form toward her friend.
The sight that greeted her was an odd one: Helotes mounted on his filly, and a very thin luperci huddled on the ground almost underneath her hooves. Blue eyes widened, and the Centurion had to fight her first instinct to crouch on the ground beside the woman and comfort her. Swallowing, she shot a glance at the dark Hydra in questioning then at last hunkered a bit closer to the skinny stranger, setting her bow and arrows down on the ground; they wouldn’t do her any good in close combat if this creature turned out to be dangerous.
But, judging from the other’s near-emaciated condition and fear-stench, the prospect of her being dangerous was laughable. She was a trespasser, one outside of the clan, but she was not a wolf. She wasn’t even a coyote. Her brow furrowed, and she tried to remember where she’d smelled that strange species-scent before.
“She’s like Enkiel,” Vesper said half to herself, remembering the jackal-hybrid. Then she addressed the woman, her voice sharpening slightly, though her eyes betrayed some of her concern. “Who are you? What are you doing on our territory?”
Word Count → 466
Man, this sucks, but Ves is here now!
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