you touch the bump I punch your throat

Absinth's ears twitched at Aresenn’s dry humor, a wry smile curling at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I know,” She quipped back, her voice dripping with playful cynicism. “Wouldn't life be even easier if I just laid it all out for you? But where's the fun in that? You’d be so bored.” She trotted ahead, her charcoal tail flicking like a playful banner.

As they moved deeper into the snowy forest, she couldn't help but feel a perverse sense of amusement at Aresenn's grudging compliance. He would follow her into hell if she asked, and that knowledge brought a twisted sort of comfort. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the smirk on his face. “Solace in solitude? That’s rich, coming from the wolf who can't stand it when I’m not around to pester him.” She teased, taunting him with a gleam of her emeralds.

Her tone turned serious for a moment, though the edge of mischief never left her eyes. “Us wolves are nothing like my pretty birds, not at all as devoted. What does stuff like family mean? For me, family has always been something I needed to protect myself from. And now, out of sight out of mind, simple as that.” She trailed off, shaking her head with a cynical chuckle.

Absinth paused, letting the weight of her words hang in the cold air, watching for his reaction out of the corner of her eye. The scent of coyotes grew stronger, pulling her focus back to the hunt. She darted forward, her movements swift and sure, as if to outrun her own thoughts.

The thrill of the chase momentarily pushed her worries aside. Her senses honed in on the prey ahead, a blur of fur and fear amidst the white landscape. But she was far from peak physicality, her breaths coming in short and quick puffs. Absinth lunged, claws extended, her body moving on instinct. The rush of the hunt was a familiar escape, a reminder of simpler, bloodier times. She tackled the coyote, her teeth finding purchase in its scruff, and the world narrowed to the pulse of life and death beneath her jaws. She was brutal, the blood on her tongue so pleasing to the woman she might have let a moan loose from deep within her chest.

wormwood