03-05-2009, 11:48 PM
[html]
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... fenban.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
A big long gash down her back would be cool... >___> Aside from the other things she’ll get from him, hahah, ^=^
300+
The coyotes stench was overwhelming as he threw himself at her. Deep within, the rational mind of the wolf questioned her attacker’s motives. Swiftly, her mind ran threw the scents that she had stored within the deep recesses of her mind. But this scent was different—foreign. She didn’t know what motive this creature would have. Or perhaps he didn’t have one. Perhaps he had merely taken advantage of her situation, or perhaps he would have attacked regardless of her state. And that made him dangerous. But these thoughts were only a brief flicker in the sea of time, and it was lost deep within that chaos, for reason had no place her. Here, she relied upon instinct alone. Instinct and the fighting in which she had been trained that came forth with ease.
The black fae growled as he ripped into her. The coy’s movements were quick, frantic. The wounds that he had ripped into her flank and shoulder were superficial—deep enough to draw blood but shallow enough to miss even the necessary muscle that propelled her body. But the pain did not register in that wilder, feral mind. Her body continued to struggle against his larger form, her jaws snapping at his shoulder and face, her claws pushing against his chest. She felt his blood on her tongue, could smell it in the air. But soon, with all the spray, the scents of their blood comingled in the air, on the snow, in their fur. And like her, the male did not stop, could not stop, for mere pain. But when his jaws sought her shoulder, her snarl was renewed. Her head whipped about as her hungry jaws sought the ones that held her shoulder. But they found nothing, and he had released her.
Now his struggle was renewed as he sought to pin her down. His heavy paws pressed down upon her neck and shoulder and drew the blood that raced from that wound. The black fae’s snarls were feral, and her control was beginning to slip for the first time in her life. She was wild, her teeth fiercely seeking purchase in his flesh. But she was growing tired, and even the adrenalin could not sustain her rapidly cooling body. But her body moving against his gave her enough room to try and move away, and her body spun under him like the body of a snake as she placed herself back onto her feet. If she was able to get away, she would have turned and thrown herself at him, attacking and seeking his throat where she should have simply run away.
A big long gash down her back would be cool... >___> Aside from the other things she’ll get from him, hahah, ^=^
300+
The coyotes stench was overwhelming as he threw himself at her. Deep within, the rational mind of the wolf questioned her attacker’s motives. Swiftly, her mind ran threw the scents that she had stored within the deep recesses of her mind. But this scent was different—foreign. She didn’t know what motive this creature would have. Or perhaps he didn’t have one. Perhaps he had merely taken advantage of her situation, or perhaps he would have attacked regardless of her state. And that made him dangerous. But these thoughts were only a brief flicker in the sea of time, and it was lost deep within that chaos, for reason had no place her. Here, she relied upon instinct alone. Instinct and the fighting in which she had been trained that came forth with ease.
The black fae growled as he ripped into her. The coy’s movements were quick, frantic. The wounds that he had ripped into her flank and shoulder were superficial—deep enough to draw blood but shallow enough to miss even the necessary muscle that propelled her body. But the pain did not register in that wilder, feral mind. Her body continued to struggle against his larger form, her jaws snapping at his shoulder and face, her claws pushing against his chest. She felt his blood on her tongue, could smell it in the air. But soon, with all the spray, the scents of their blood comingled in the air, on the snow, in their fur. And like her, the male did not stop, could not stop, for mere pain. But when his jaws sought her shoulder, her snarl was renewed. Her head whipped about as her hungry jaws sought the ones that held her shoulder. But they found nothing, and he had released her.
Now his struggle was renewed as he sought to pin her down. His heavy paws pressed down upon her neck and shoulder and drew the blood that raced from that wound. The black fae’s snarls were feral, and her control was beginning to slip for the first time in her life. She was wild, her teeth fiercely seeking purchase in his flesh. But she was growing tired, and even the adrenalin could not sustain her rapidly cooling body. But her body moving against his gave her enough room to try and move away, and her body spun under him like the body of a snake as she placed herself back onto her feet. If she was able to get away, she would have turned and thrown herself at him, attacking and seeking his throat where she should have simply run away.