Don't Be A Girl About It

Trotting along onto the 'beautiful' lake she had spotted as she traveled, Claston surveyed the bleak landscape with a sour yet satisfied expression. It was the prefect place to practice fighting moves during winter.

Blinking, her toxic green gaze fixated on a clear space that looked like it had lots of room for her twists and turns, so she trotted towards it. She slowed, carefully flexing her claws in the ice, scratching at it and growling low in her throat. She closed her eyes tight for a second, gathering a somewhat dark peace of mind for practice, and then lunged forward at nothing, practicing her take-offs for attacks. She needed to be quick, her movements counted and precise. She needed clean-cut attacks that would deal a lot of damage, and not leave her winded after.

Landing heavily on her paws, she whipped around, tail out straight like a flag, ears flat against her skull, and eyes narrow. She darted forward quick, body low to the ground, zig-zagging like a snake would. She needed to practice these movements more, even though she had practically perfected them already. She needed new techniques, more knowledge. More spars with real wolves, not the grass-stuffed things she made, voodoo-like wolf dolls that were difficult to put together, and easy to destroy. She never had enough of those, she needed real flesh to fight against, to sink her teeth into, and claw and slash at until it was no more but a corpse...