The lithe body wound around the rocks with ease and precision, each pawstep weighted and decided upon, hardly usual for the one who guided them. Normally, she had little patience for such trivial matters and ran quietly but without forethought, paying little mind to the snapping of a twig underfoot. Today though, every crackle brought about a pained pause and she waited for the noise to die down before continuing on. After all, she wouldn't want her quarry to hear her coming. Her quarry. The word tasted sweet on her tongue and savoured it with a malicious grin as she stalked, her single eye focused on naught but one objective; bring down the black devil dog and make her pay. For so long after her accident she had done little but wait, sheltering in caves and under trees, forcing herself to remain still while she healed. Now that winter had drawn to a close, she was feeling well enough to travel, and had left the cave for a rejuvenating stroll, not expecting that today would be the day for revenge. What a delightful turn of events. Another smile, and then a new expression of strained focus as she struggled to balance herself properly, growing accustomed to the feeling of hunting with one eye. It was definitely very different from what she was used to but, as others had done before her, she would learn.

The grass that grew tall between the rocks shielded her small frame from the one whom she followed, and the kindly wind blew from the side, taking both her own scent and the perfume of the other far away, whirling them into oblivion. Fiam, however, did not need smell for she would know the stranger anywhere. Those dark tresses and well-sculpted ears, they were all she had needed and they were all she could see. The night in the Aplos where she had almost met death was still fresh in her mind, for she had mulled it over everyday, wishing she had found the strength to kill her assailant then, face to face with a warriors fierce determination, rather than stalking her now like an assassin. No, she certainly was not suited to it, although the other had not yet noticed her. She was too busy ghosting between the boulders, intent on a scent trail Fiam could only guess at. Probably another poor soul who lay dying and wounded somewhere just as she had been. The white wolf instinctively began to move faster.

They walked that way for awhile, pursuer and pursued, until an opportunity finally arose for Fiam to exact her revenge. The black wolf paused and her head disappeared into the grasses. She was standing slightly below the place where the other hid, and it was the perfect perch from which to launch her assault. Slowly, very slowly, she crouched into position,her tail slightly curved and her belly suspended just above the earth. For a moment she lingered like that, suspended in time, a gargoyle watching the world with its stony glare, before she leapt. Already she could taste the iron tang of blood on her tongue and the feel of flesh between her jaws.

Hopefully, the other had yet received no warning of her presence, feeling her only when she landed heavily atop her back. Without pausing, Fiam would sink her teeth between the shoulder blades of the other, a place with little fat and muscle padding and the most exposure of the spine. She would grab what she could, be it membranous muscle, skin or bone, and crunch down before shaking her head viciously from side to side. She may not have been as large as the raven ess, but she had the element of surprise and she hoped her added weight would be enough to throw the other off balance. If not, the hated one would most likely buck and plunge, attempting to throw Fiam from her. The wolf would then let herself be pitched over the black shoulder, although she wouldn't let go of what she held if she could help it. With luck, this would draw the beast onto her side and expose the soft part of her throat.

Blood-lust was on the white woman now, and she revelled in the sweet excitement of the hunter's blood as it coursed down her gullet. Revenge was just as pleasantly tasting as they described it. Perhaps, if she had enjoyed any hold over her senses in that moment, she may have realised her mistake. She may have noted the red hue on the pelt of the other, or smelt the cloying perfume of a stranger. But alas, Fiammetta was oblivious to everything except her retaliation, her whole being focused on the task at hand – to kill the one who had maimed her.

This was why the fire had blessed her.
This was why she lived.

Fiammetta - Female - No Home - No Family - 5YO - 28 inches, 32 pounds