<font color=goldenrod>came out swinging</font>

If there had been one thing she had been taught, it was to appreciate the body she had been born into; sure, she was not as effortlessly graceful as the Angels but she made do with the paws she had been given, moving with slow ease through the labyrinth of vines and branches. Her pelt remained black as the shadows, only that one pesky ear highlighted in the moonlight, her eyes alight like emeralds. It had been a guise she had made use to many of times; it allowed her to snoop about unheard and unseen, her lithe body tall and willowy like the saplings - even the highlights of dark chocolate gave her coverage, their shapes and movement appearing to be part of the subtle woodwork of the trees. She had grown to love the night because of the cover it permitted, taking to exploring at such hours as often as possible - it made it easier to track and observe the hunters, too. Call it cliche but many of the murderous creatures emerged come nightfall, their prey asleep within their dens or out scavenging for small game. That is her goal this night - to hunt and track. With the approach of winter, many wolves were making themselves known and within them, there would be demons.

Slowly she moved, weaving in and out of sight as she circled the thickets, her keen eyes sweeping over the landscape as her nose searched for a giveaway. It was often easy enough to find a suspect; besides, how often did one become stained with the blood of their own kind? Conflict was not uncommon within Moladion, sure, but there were usually obvious indications - one who had been in a fight over territory or petty feuds often wore multiple wounds and carried themselves in either shame or pride; demons, on the other hand, moved as the cougars did and seldom wore wounds of battle. Like the assassins, they were just as quick on their toes when it came to ending another's life. It just so happened to be that the wind was against her that night - it lay stagnant and dormant, her nose only capable of finding the scents right before it. Her eyes, however, spotted the small frame of another - pale as the moon marked in blood, her entire body nearly drenched. She moved with cautious and Malina found herself pausing mid stride, watching in silence for some moments before she began to trail the other wolf - she remained behind, picking up the scent where the girl's foot steps began. No blood, no pack and yet, she was marked with the blood marks of Angel-kind. She was no Angel, however, all too obvious that was.

"Desine pedes," she called, her voice surprisingly loud through the silence of the night; like water, she glided forward towards the pup, remaining directly behind her with her eyes fixated on her target - the girl's spine. It was a precautionary measure but one could never be too safe in the dead of night - this girl moved with cautious, yes, but just her being out alone, so young, made her suspicious. "Why are you out here alone?"

("Stop your feet.")

She moved until she stood some five or so feet from the girl, pausing then and rising to her full height; her tail arced slightly, ears flattened back and features solemn. It would be best to kill the demons young - particularly those that had begun to take the form of Angel-kind. Go on, girl, prove yourself otherwise or she shall take that precious target that lingers over your throat.

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