The world was hazy and inconsistent to the wounded femme, altering as she slipped in and out of conciousness, so that it appeared each time she fell through the sieve of her own mind, she landed in another and altogether different story. This may have even been a bearable reality for her, if it wasn't for the pain that pursued her stricken form through the minutes she lay floating in the cool water. All around her life continued as though her hurrying paw-steps had never once interrupted its flow, insects whirring and buzzing, drawn to the light of the moon reflected in the water, and night creatures baying shrilly, readying themselves for the hunt. Fiam groaned as another crippling wave of torture racked her body, shifting where she lay so her body sunk deeper into the healing mud that cushioned her.

Her feverish thoughts were none too constant, and the very absurdity of them increased her horror tenfold as she struggled to make sense of the world around her. Only now and then, when she slipped into the uncomfortable claws of lucidity, did she embrace the irony of her life. A small smile even flitted at the corner of the good side of her face, the side with the half moon mark of russet, as she considered her situation. Jaylah's granddaughter, carrying the fiery lifeblood of her forebears in her veins – scorched by the very thing that drove her onwards each day, that had driven her to face down Tobias and live. Pictures of the incident had begun to return to her warped mind, and she saw a blinding flash of lightning, a dying tree and a burning branch falling to the earth, followed by the familiar onrush of pain that drew a whimper from her mouth whenever she remembered it.

A faint sound, out of place in the night-time air, caught her attention and she huffed sharply, struggling to catch any scent beyond singed fur and dead flesh. Luckily for her, she was enjoying a moment of clarity, and she recognised the faded form of wolf as the black shadow came to rest before her. It carried a scent the little white wolf did not recognise, and yet there was something in its blue eyes she did not trust, something about the scars that marred its otherwise pretty face she could not bring herself to like. It looked at her without pity as far as she could see, and it was regarding her with an air of hunger she had come to realise was the trademark of the cannibal wolf. Fiammetta thanked the stars that shone above her for the rare moment of clarity she enjoyed. Her prayer, however, was interrupted by the voice of the raven-hued one. What parted her lips was no warning, merely a statement uttered with the mater-of-fact attitude of one who did not care what became of another. Fiam resented it.

Ignoring the pain that coursed through her like fire, she used her last shreds of energy to right herself in the water, so she lay on her belly. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she had to place her head on her paws lest she pass out once more, but the cool mud still clung to her wounded side and offered her comfort as though she continued to rest broadside in the gently lapping water of the Aplos. She knew she had not the strength to defend herself and, should the stranger wolf choose it, it could devour her at any moment. All she could do was glare at it through her single remaining eye, red and accusing, and let a snarl play at the corners of her mouth, promising a mouth full of teeth. Realising her own death was fast approaching, Fiam took a deep breath, ignoring the burning in her throat, and spoke, resisting the fear that gnawed at her belly and replacing it with the righteous anger that was her birthright, “Why do you care whether I give up my breath or not?” although she could barely force the words across her swollen tongue, her eye watched the female unblinkingly, daring her to make a move and promising retaliation if she did, “A mawful of singed flesh is hardly a feat worth bragging about. In fact, a mawful of flesh is not worth the energy spent in felling it. Tobias knew that and so here I am.”

It was not something she usually did, to bring up the name of another as if it were not all through her own deeds that she lived, but she was in no position to fight tooth-and-claw, and she bore the name of Tobias like an amulet, knowing the fear it stirred in the breasts of most others.

Unfortunately for her, Tock Tock was not most others.


Fiammetta - Female - No Home - No Family - 3YO - 28 inches, 32 pounds