The fog reached chilling fingers out towards the dying female, stroking her almost tenderly, beckoning her back into unconsciousness, back into the comforting blackness that wiped the pained expression from her maw and the searing blade from her side. The ivory girl looked up, struggling to fight the lethargy that threatened to overtake her, knowing instinctively that, if she slept, it would be for the last time. The moon shone encouragingly down upon her, piercing through the darkness and clothing her in a peculiar glow that she donned over her parched and damaged skin like a cloak. She drew strength from it, strength enough to face the dark fatale that towered over her and to keep her lips lifted in a menacing snarl, warning the female that, as long as she breathed, she still wielded a mouthful of sharp teeth. Her show of defiance, however, was met with a cold and indifferent expression, and a voice that matched the stony gaze pierced what had become a heavy silence around them. Fiammetta was not surprised by what the female uttered, and she did not deign to reply, merely kept her remaining good eye fixed to the scarred warrioress before her, its red depths spinning dizzily with the anger and fire that was her birthright.
The stranger continued to watch her, unmoving as a gargoyle in the twilight, before her jaws split in a mirthless smile, eyes twinkling with a dark mischief the girl recognised. She was held fast in a game of cat and mouse from whence there was no escape and she, helpless as she was, did not have to dwell long on the idea before realising the part that she played in it. Her ears slicked to her skull in disgust as an acidic voice reached them, and she shook her head against the dismal truth, determined to deny her fate and cheat death,
“You make a mistake,” she fought hard to keep her lyrics level, hiding her weakness, “In thinking that I will make an easy kill. Wounded I may be but defeated? Never”
Refreshed by her own words and the vehemence with which she spat them at her foe, like the venom of a cobra, she raised her head slightly from her paws so that she was level with the chest of the raven-hued one, biting back a snarl of pain as her blackened skin cracked and bled afresh. The waves of the Aplos licked at her wounds, washing them once more so that she was surrounded by a halo of crimson water, her half-moon mark lending her an ethereal air.
When she spoke Tobias' name, she had expected a reaction like fear, but received no such gratification. Instead, the female moved towards her, dodging her snapping jaws and whispering a smattering of words in her ear. However, Fiammetta did a good job of hiding her surprise, disguising it as she did with a look of hatred instead. Before she lost her advantage, she shot back, “It would appear my mate has many lovers. He does so like to spread his seed. Myself, you, Stella....” she paused, letting her words sink in. It was an outrageous lie of course, but a good one, and not even a twitch of her ears gave her away. He did, after all, desire her as he had made clear many times before, and would likely not be too pleased to find her fire extinguished like Jaylah's had been so many years before.
A bird screamed in the darkness, but Fiam did not start. Instead she let herself lie on her side in the soothing mud once more, as though proving her fear of the other had melted away like the pain of her wounds as the mud clung to them like salve. Her muzzle rested clear of the water though, and she still kept her ember-red globe firmly fixed on the face of the wraith that had chosen to haunt her. Her show of rebelliousness had drained her of her remaining energy though, and she felt the weariness of sleep threaten to close its wings over her again. Desperately fighting against it, she barely heard the words of the other at first although, when they had sunk in, she stirred slightly and replied, this time unable to hide the raggedness of her breath, “These are not...other lands, and I do not.....fear ghosts. I will die...when and...where I choose by any means I choose. Death has no say...and....neither do you. Fire is my father, and fire....fire does not ever die. He.....always comes back. He has....given me a mark....so that all may...known I am his.”
Was it the right answer? The female didn't know, but she began to growl falteringly at the other, daring her to make a move. No matter what, the svelte fatale wouldn't go down without a fight.
Fiammetta - Female - No Home - No Family - 4YO - 28 inches, 32 pounds