The End

Of all the times she could be a damsel in distress, this was perhaps the only one where she felt no way out, well, except for down. She's breathing raggedly now, her chest heaving- she can scent her own fear. Roman Armada is terrified, because she knows she's going to die. Then she hears a voice, and if fate wasn't cruel enough it seems that the last person she has to deal with before she dies is the nameless wolf she'd accepted, the flustering yet desperately hot asshole. Liebling, hold on, she hears him speak, and feels a familiar prickle of annoyance. What in the hell does Liebling mean? Looking down, she whines slightly... okay so the nickname doesn't really matter right now. "Well, I'm not going anywhere." She bites out around the root in her mouth, she doesn't even know if he can hear her.

She feels his teeth connect with her scruff, and feels herself being pulled up. Flailing with her paws, she scrabbles at the ground, trying to help her and in the movement she almost questions if the can smell his fear. Fear? That's not a feeling she'd expect from him, but did arrogance have a scent? Slowly, she's moving upwards, now her front half is at the top of the ledge and she's pulls herself- a whine escaping her as she momentarily feels herself sliding backwards, back into the chasm of doom. Her violet eyes look upwards at her savior, locking on to his form. Pulling herself forward to help him in his struggle, she uses her hind legs to push off the ledge beneath her, surging herself upward and forward- and straight towards him. She doesn't care that if he doesn't let go of her quickly that she's tumble right on top of him, all she wants is to not die.