Blood, pain, hatred and teeth; all were words Fiammetta understood well. Her very essence had been altered into something unrecognizable from its previous, naive state to a smoldering mass of emotions as untameable as a wildfire and unpredictable as a stormy ocean. Such was her nature that she did not know how to react to the kindness of a stranger, other than to accept it ungraciously and try to fight off the uncomfortable emotions that soon followed. These had names like gratitude and embarrassment, and they greeted her like old enemies as the warmth of the male, Atlas, began to seep into her frigid bones and soothe the burning of her skin. She gritted her teeth against the strangeness of the nearness of his presence and pressed into his frame, drinking up the feeling of his heat as a vampire drinks blood from fresh prey. It was deliciously comforting and, if it weren't for the twisting feeling in her soul, she may well have been nudged by memories of suckling in the den, her belly pleasantly full and her mind just as pleasantly empty.

Despite all of these emotions flickering through that burning eye, the male remained forlornly silent, perhaps noticing her suddenly patronizing attitude and resenting her for it. It was through no fault of his own that Fiam thought the boy a fool, for she was apt to be swift in her judgments of character, and had little time for those with such a sweet disposition as the young male. Still, he had saved her life, and she supposed that at the very least she owed him respect. The guts he had demonstrated in the attack, as well as the strength he had shown in dragging her all the way into the ensconcing shadows of the trees, did tug at the female's admiration, even if she hid it well. With a sigh, she lowered her head onto her paws and began to shift where she lay, struggling to get comfortable. Barely had she found a spot that satisfied her before an onrush of breath lit up the fur upon her ear and a rough tongue began to lap at her head fur.

So surprised was the girl that she froze where she lay, all muscles bunched beneath her pelt, her breathing having grown more shallow until it was nary detectable as the slight upward motion of her dainty thorax. Finally she overcame her shock and began to summon a growl from her chest, but the younger male at her side had already sensed his stupidity, it seemed, for he pulled away and rested his midnight pate atop his own paws. Fiam had turned her single eye to his face as he withdrew, and she noticed the grimace that pulled charcoal lips apart, reminding her that he too had been injured. She sniffed at the air, tasting his blood as it crusted across his fur, and realized (with barely disguised horror), that his shoulder had been injured. The strength of her emotions, though, were not for the wound itself, but for the action that their presence elicited from her. She owed the monochrome boy, and the fact that he would not be able to reach his own torn skin meant that she, the one he had saved, would have to do it for him. Resignedly she stretched out her neck, tentatively reaching for the place she knew hurt him while at the same time attempting not to jerk her own oozing scabs, and began to lick. The taste of his blood, metallic and salty, was not altogether unpleasant to the femme, and she found that the rhythm of her licking soothed her as much as it would him and so, even when every bit of mud had been scoured from the cut, she did not pause in her grooming. It had been so long since she had been in close proximity with another, that perhaps she instinctively missed the feeling of 'wolf' that arose in her when she interacted with her own kind on such a deep level.

Only when Atlas' voice cut the warm silence of the badger sett, did she pull away from her task (almost as grudgingly as she had set about doing it in the first place), to regard him. Her berry-bright stare spoke not only of her outward pain, but her inner turmoil as well, brought afresh to the surface of her mind by his lyrics. Even the fresh scent of the approaching dawn, and the soft glow that found its way into their retreat did not extinguish her anger or find its way into her conscious thoughts, for they were all turned upon the dark wench that had almost torn her asunder, “Taken care of? She needs to be torn apart. Her and her despicable imprint, and all their detestable kind. As soon as I am healed, I will set about the task I have been given, to rid the world of these cannibalistic heathens once and for all,” and then, when she realized just how stir-crazy she sounded, “Or at least spill her nameless blood. I could do with a good battle, when I can defend myself again, that is.” She smiled, but it was forced and strained, and she managed it for only a few moments, before lapsing into broody silence.




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