for fear that the devil would chop off their heads

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The fallens leaves are crushed beneath her weight, dead limbs long fallen snapping at the pressure. Yet has no care of the sounds she makes within the night. This world was not liked by the serpent. That much was clear so why should she think the wolves her are much better. Perhaps it the fact the russian cold is tied into her veins that she feels this way, as if any whom were not born from the frigid kingdom were beneath her. Or perhaps it is the myth of her name that makes it this way, either way she has no care. No fear, for such was a weakness. And father had always said those who were weak would die at the hands of the strong. Blood eyes linger along the shadows as she moves through the woods, vision slightly dimmed due to the light causing her to squint as her hairs bristle at the flaw. For if her father had been alive to hear those condemning words, what he once thought of his precious heir would be slayed. Blind.

She was no child, nor was she one to coddle or pity. But the mere thought that one day she would become some pathetic creature who could no longer see was enough to cause a madness to stir. For death would be far sweeter than the other. As she moves to step over a log, she freezes. Blood eyes darting up as a sneer cracks those sharp features into a weapon. A wolf. A male to be exact, his size far more likable than that little thing she had met in the crags. Slowly does she remove herself from over the log as she stands before him, a good feet away. Eyes are quick to asses him, the hairs along her back bristling at the invasion of her time. She was not here to make friends if anything she had come her to die, for a life without Russia was one not worth living. A growl so low and deep rumbles her lips in warning as she narrows her eyes at the male. Her tail rigid at her back. As abrasive voice spits, "Переместите вдоль" The warning is clear in the tone even if he does not understand her words.

And if he does not hear or heed the warning what she does next will make sure her tone does not go unheard. Perhaps it is a test or hell maybe she just truly wanted nothing to do with this world, but feet find purchase in the soil as she charges the feet between them. The snarl that tears from her throat, the bristled hair, and the tail raised high. It is a dominance measure. One to solidify her earlier words. As she stops just a precious foot before him, as leaves scurry from her stop. Blood eyes glaring as the low hum of a growl pours from her lips. As she carefully eyes him, waiting for a reaction to her challenge. For perhaps this night was not to waste and perhaps there was some entertainment to be had in this world. Waiting always waiting, as the snake creeps upon the gates of Eden.