Varda was no fighter either, and though as a pup she had once been so determined to try every field for the experience and possibility that there may be something other than hunting that she enjoyed, she now had her answer. Teeth and claws flying everywhere, family being injured, it was nothing that took her fancy. Others may be built for it, and she respected that, but it certainly wasn't her style. If she knew what she was flinging herself into, perhaps she wouldn't have done so. What was she thinking? Blindly throwing herself into the ordeal, no knowledge to guide her way? Her pack and family, the ones who she had wanted to fight alongside, drive out the darned intruders and prove loyalty towards, had been disappointed. They had been let down as a smaller yet agile woman bet her in a fight, both fighting for equally zealous causes. It wasn't the most suitable way to introduce sparring, was it?
And oh, wasn't she in the best of physical states? Her beautiful alabaster dress, prized and adorned by the very wearer, always meticulously kept in flawless manner, was ruined. How could she be more angered? No scars or bruises had ever dared to mar her coat, and here they were now, noticeably daunting her. Forget mud, these wounds could become permanent if they weren't treated. Fortunately, she had limped her way to find her cousin halfway through the process of patching Miksa up with her father standing nearby. Awaiting her own examination, she rested most of her weight on her painless three legs, twitching her nose like a rabbit. Heck, her hunter's nose had been wrecked, and that was the most significant tool upon her body. Oh, but was the use? Rage and stress was all that filled her mind, boiling her thoughts in the process. A loud sigh slipped from her lips as her head hung low with a depressed demeanour wafting around, briefly looking up at the Author before gazing back down at her sore paws. At least it was over, yet somehow, that just wasn't good enough.
"Speech" |
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