let it die

For so many changes, it seemed the Archer-Lyall was taking it all in her stride. Outwardly at least, in her heart she sometimes screamed. Giant wolves, wearing things to protect their hides, cat claws and huge fangs and wings, as well as animals that fought alongside them. It was easy enough to put on a brave face in front of others, but it was still an adjustment. Her strategies would need to change.

Her own coming upon the battlefield was more an accident than anything else. She spotted the raven before noting the earthy hued wolf that lingered beneath it. Her own tail waved in a wide arch, head lifting to offer a chuff as she bowed. The itch of heat crawled under her skin yet, and she needed to blow off some steam. If the stranger returned her bow, what she had always equated as a universal sign of lets play rough, but no hard feelings, then she would move to close the distance between them.