In my reflection of the fight, I took careful note of what to do the next time I made a run at Kane. He was faster and more wily than I gave him credit for originally, and blessed with a knowledge of true battle; though what I admired in my private enemy I made careful note of and made sure to find ways to sharpen my own senses. I wished to evolve into the most deadly being, I want there to be a trail of blood following after me like some lost hunter on a moonless and starless night who just so happened to find a beautiful stranger to follow. Followed, there it was again, that sense. I have heard it twice now, that whisper of pad against stone, and I halt in my tracks, placing my paws firmly. I know there are those who whisper of demons, who say the word with as much indifference as apprehension. Again comes that haunting sound, though this time the wind switches, swirling around the rocks to carry the smell of decay and stagnant waters. I took deliberate care with picking out the scents on his pelt, making special mark of the female scent within his own, my head tilting at how much his scent blended with hers.

My piercing pink gaze follows the scent, body turning with a slight jigger-like motion, the paw Kane had mangled refusing to move - or seemed to not move though it actually did and I hadn't realized I landed on it. I give a soft growl at the deadness of the limb, vowing mentally that I would find a way to cope with the limb that was there but was also not. It was rather like he had chewed the paw from my leg, though I was plainly not missing it, but in feeling this is how I would describe it. Like a phantom limb brought into solidarity by imagination alone, though others could feel it as well. It bothered me as no other injury had, and as such, much of my mind was taken up with this dastardly thing done to my once beautiful paw. The toes crinkle under my weight, crumpling under the pressure that I place upon it. As my eyes land on his face, I right myself.

This black stranger was gilded by the color so many associated with blood, but what caught my attention was the missing piece in his lip, the peek-a-boo hole in the side of his face - where his fang was playing and enthusiastic game of hide-and-seek as he spoke. I watched him approach, took note of the look in his sunset eyes, my own bright pink gaze most likely reflecting his own image to him as I return the expression he gives me. "They are flesh wounds only, of no consequence. If you must know, I received them from Kane, still-crowned king of Diveen. Seems as though someone did not wish me to take his head so soon, so I wait." Honesty is best used when another looks as if they want to tear you limb from limb. A most unusual feeling this caution, to know another is so dangerous, but to find a sick fascination in such a thing. His body ripples with strength, the confident way he carries himself screams it from the tallest trees, even his eyes whisper of a hidden violence. The stories the others tell, the rumors - though truly such things have died down and are but glimpses of conversation. This is a wolf of Iromar.

My eyes eat up his strong visage, neverminding the female that clung to him - even this far away from the swamps - enjoying the sight of a virile male before me. The itch in my chest brings me to my current stance, and away from the sordid little fantasies I allowed to play in my head. It had been an uneventful winter, and as such hormone driven thoughts were still given to pulse through my mind every now and then, such is the life of a female alone. Not that I would shack up with just anything, I do have standards, and they are rather high. I am a picky girl, and know exactly what I want, but my eye candy is far more varied. I am pulled from these thoughts, my gaze coming back once more to the male rather than at the rock behind his head. I made no more answers to him, nor did I make any inquiry of my own.

If he wanted to know anything he had only to ask, then I would ask my own. Perhaps, this would begin a game of twenty questions.