walk right in the sight of the gun

[Urma]

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OOC:xD Well, it just seems sensible to have a bit of powerplay, especially since I doubt Urma will be able to inflict any kind of significant damage x.x ::Word Count:: 400+       Her intention to keep a safe distance between herself and her attacker had proved worthless in the face of the spiteful male who followed her with an ease and natural flow to his movements that spoke of experience, but also of something much more disturbing-- a thrill, perhaps, in the cornering of his future victim? He seemed to draw some sort of satisfaction from even the few hairs he had stole from her pelt-- a thought that in itself sent shivers down her spine, giving birth to a chill she had never before experienced. His eyes were endless pools of blue, and the silence proceeding each move told the stories of many who had maybe last seen that same shade of cerulean, the promise of a faith sealed. She could read entire novels in his steps, in the glint of his fangs, her eardrums vibrating under the silent scream of Death, the endless wail of every stolen tomorrow the male before her had taken away. Her heart thumped fast and loud against her ribcage, pumping blood and pure fear, laced with the same determined rage that had failed to waver from her soul.       Only milliseconds before did her eyes register his swift attack. Her bones, paralyzed under the weight of what her sight was now locked on, were only able to move her so as to withstand the attack sideways. Fierce claws ripped through the skin on her ribs and the side of her stomach, the male's weight bringing her down from her frail stance. Her anger reached boiling point, her gaze portraying both the surge of pain from the side of her body, as well as a deep hatred for all that her attacker stood for. She had found herself in helpless situations numerous times, but she had never had the fueling rage that flowed through her veins to encourage her to do her best to ward off the stranger before her for as long as she could. His jaws made contact with the flesh on her shoulder, and she cringed, a gasp escaping her and transforming itself into a long, painful yelp. Pain was something she was accustomed to, but this was somehow different, laced with a kind of venomous satisfaction that she could only attribute to a ruthless killer, and no longer a successful hunter. Her own fangs bared, the blood from the wound of her shoulder tantalizing, the fair female snapped at the powerful male, the smarting in her wound giving her enough strength despite her uncomfortable position and her obvious muscular disadvantage.

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