Fiam couldn't explain what had drawn her to the woods. She had never been one for the deep shadows and cool breezes wafting between evergreen trunks. No, she preferred the freedom of the open grassland, where she could race until her muscles screamed to her to stop, where prey roamed aplenty and where nothing sinister could lurk unnoticed. Here in the dappled shade, anything could be hiding, watching her with dark intentions. It was not that she was afraid, quite on the contrary, she would just prefer to have her full range of motion if it came to a fight. It was early spring and the sun was still fairly weak, its rays an almost runny yellow colour as they spilled through the foaliage. They illuminated the alabaster femme as she moved, warming her but slightly, her breath forming a slight smoke that swirled above her head in the parody of a halo. Such a sight was strangely out of place, contrasting with the red-brown streak that covered her left eye and ended on her chest. It was as though she had been ripped through by a scythe, blood filling up her orb so that it gleamed red and orange. Far from a wound though, the strange splash of colour was a warning and it read loud and clear: play with fire, and you'll get burnt.

A sudden high-pitched whine savaged the silence, drawing the attention of the new four-year old who halted to listen. Her ears swivelled this way and that, catching the whines, and a smile warmed her lips as she pictured the young squeakers shoving one another in order to reach their mother's life-giving milk. She adored pups, from their fresh scent to their charming mannerisms, and she could not help her desire to investigate. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she would even catch a glimpse of the tiny newborns. Mind made up, she set off in pursuit of the sound, banner waving vigorously as excitement began to course through her veins. However, as the sounds increased in intensity, telling her she was near to the denning site, she slowed her pace. Weariness dogged her pawsteps and she kept to the shadows, ironically using the very shrouds she hated to shield her from the potential wrath of the new mother whose turf she encroached on. Working her way carefully forwards, she came upon a breach in the undergrowth. The stench of blood and wolf hit her hard and she fought the urge to sneeze, shaking her head and holding her breath, trying to make sense of what she saw in the small clearing.

Instead of a family of youngsters or, more likely, the yawning mouth of an inhabited den, she could make out only the hind-end of another wolf. This one was pale, like herself, although its fur was already plastered with the clods of dirt sent flying by its busy paws. Fiammetta cocked her head, confused. Within the darkness she could hear the shufflings of the mother and the yips and miniature growling of the small ones. So who, then, was this stranger? Tasting the breeze, Fiam recognised the scent of a female and, most disturbing of all, the raw smell of desire. Horror and disbelief warred for supremacy in her features as she struggled to come to terms with what she saw. Surely no wolf would attempt to commit such a horrible crime? It was then, though, that she remembered the dead eyes of the one who had assaulted her at the Aplos, the one called Tobias. In those dead eyes, she had seen a lack of remorse that had filled her with dread. If he had been capable of such an unprompted attack, then this white wraith could be after pup meat. It was decided then. The female was bigger than her by a fair degree, not that such a thing was difficult, but Fiam felt no hesitation. She was unafraid, resigned to her reaction. Curse her compassionate heart. Having been skulking by a tree root at the edge of the clearing, her scent masked by the direction of the wind, she suddenly propelled herself into the open, moving as fast as she could, even hampered as she was by her hard-packed muscle. The other wolf's flank grew nearer in the time it took her heart to beat twice, and she shut her eyes, readying herself for the imminent collison. If the other did not move, there would be the sickening thump of flesh on flesh as Fiam's chest connected with the stranger's side, hopefully forcing her from the den's entrance. Being so low to the ground and having such a broad centre of gravity because of this would stand in Fiammetta's favour as she would break contact with her opponent, her balance maintained. This done, she would spin on her haunches a few feet away to face the girl, hackles up and snarling menacingly, mismatched eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.

Let the other girl come. Fiam would be ready.

Fiammetta - female – No Home – No Family – 3YO – 22 inches, 32 pounds