If he wants to lift her, he's going to have to give up a lot to do it from here, she can rain blows on his back. She plants her feet deeper in the ground. Her ribs groan, threatening to crack he's not letting go anytime soon. There's no time to dwell he's on her now, lunging at her waist. Claws rend fur and flesh, tearing him open anew, and still, he does not stop smiling. She goes for him again, clawing at him, the muscles in her chest and arms straining. When she blinks, there is no white in his fur, and the wound is bleeding red, red, red.Ī howl leaves her throat. The scar across his chest carries to this form, too. The moment her back paws hit the earth, she's already back up, already lurching toward him again. Her nostrils flare even as Tovolar twists, using her momentum to send her to the ground.īut you cannot keep a hungry wolf down for long. Blood fills her mouth all the same-thick and rich with copper. Instead, they meet a forearm raised just in time. Powerful legs send her flying through the air her jaws are ready to clamp down on his throat. She was angry then, too.Īrlinn Kord's only thought is to wipe the smile from Tovolar's face.įorward. The fight ruined it she remembers, vaguely, tearing it from his shoulders in a fit of rage. She tried and failed to kill him he tried and failed to keep her. There was another years ago when they met in a semi-circle of their brethren. No matter how much his shape changes, his eyes stay the same: burning, quick, bright as brands. What a shame-can't be helped.ĭuel for Dominance | Art by: Ryan Pancoast Must have been some accident with the forge. The villagers don't recognize her, so they're leery of telling her what happened, but she finds out eventually.Ī fire. A wall that she once scribbled on as a child. A husk meets her: blackened foundations jutting from the earth. So, she makes her way up the hill to the old forge.īut there isn't anything there. She offers them guidance, and they offer her belonging.
Their presence is constant, their loyalty hard-won. And, of course, if her human parents reject her, at least she has her pack.
Boulder and Streak know the weight of what she means to do. Years later, and after traveling the Multiverse, she's finally grown brave enough to go back home.
Holy symbols flood the walls like moths covering a lantern. There he stands in his workshop-she can see it so clearly now-surrounded by the work of his own two hands. Her father's voice is strong and firm, but there's a bit of a creak to it-like an oak whose branches yawn under pressure. "Mind yourself in the woods, Arlinn," he says.
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