![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
actionreaction[[Jesse]]
I could smell something on the air, not as strong as if I'd been changed, but it was still there. It wasn't enough to put me on guard, something that nearly turned into a big mistake.
I caught the flash of grey darting from the woods, and faster than I could think I ran towards it. I let the gun Jacob had given me inside the shed. I had no use for it. In mid-stride, I changed. It was a full-body shiver, the wolf coming out. arms and legs shortened and changed, my jaw lengthened, my teeth sharpened. In seconds I was a black wolf running faster than the grey, ready to keep him from my flock.
I'm no fighter. I've fought only to save my life. I'm no good at it, partly because of my lack of practice, but more so because of my lack of killer instinct. It was a deplorable thing, the son of an alpha to be so unequivocally a beta wolf. I was supposed to lead my pack, take over for my father. But the instinct wasn't there.
It was there now, only strong because of the need to protect what I'd come to consider mine. The grey wolf was larger, looked stronger, and as I lunged at him, I didn't expect I'd win, or live.
That prey is mine! The grey wolf's body langue was loud and clear. He issued a challenge, teeth bared, lips curled back.
These sheep are not prey. I accepted the challenge. I wasn't looked for a fight, but I'd protect the flock. It was my job.
MY prey! The grey wolf lunged, jaws snapping, and I dodged, the sudden scent of blood fresh in my nostrils.
These sheep belong to others, I tried again, snapping my own jaws, but refusing to fight yet.
The grey wolf had no qualms about attacking what he considered an interloper. Despite what I suddenly realized was an injury, the wolf charged, catching my shoulder, but the angle was wrong. his bite did little more than scrape at fur and flesh instead of puncturing and tearing as it should. I wanted to hold back. I wanted to fix his wounds. I didn't want to fight. But his aggression filled my nostrils, and I knew I'd have to best him to save my own life and the flock.
I hated doing it, but I fought dirty, knowing he was wounded. I twisted nimbly, getting a much better grip than he had and bit. I bit near where the smell of blood was strongest, near where I knew an injury lay beneath the fur. The wolf yelped and twisted away, clearly in pain. He snapped at me again, but instead I just threw myself at him, my full weight, into a take down. Injured as he was, he went down hard, and after too many futile attempts to get up to face me, he stopped. He bared his throat, resignation setting into his body.
He was waiting for the killing blow.
I could smell something on the air, not as strong as if I'd been changed, but it was still there. It wasn't enough to put me on guard, something that nearly turned into a big mistake.
I caught the flash of grey darting from the woods, and faster than I could think I ran towards it. I let the gun Jacob had given me inside the shed. I had no use for it. In mid-stride, I changed. It was a full-body shiver, the wolf coming out. arms and legs shortened and changed, my jaw lengthened, my teeth sharpened. In seconds I was a black wolf running faster than the grey, ready to keep him from my flock.
I'm no fighter. I've fought only to save my life. I'm no good at it, partly because of my lack of practice, but more so because of my lack of killer instinct. It was a deplorable thing, the son of an alpha to be so unequivocally a beta wolf. I was supposed to lead my pack, take over for my father. But the instinct wasn't there.
It was there now, only strong because of the need to protect what I'd come to consider mine. The grey wolf was larger, looked stronger, and as I lunged at him, I didn't expect I'd win, or live.
That prey is mine! The grey wolf's body langue was loud and clear. He issued a challenge, teeth bared, lips curled back.
These sheep are not prey. I accepted the challenge. I wasn't looked for a fight, but I'd protect the flock. It was my job.
MY prey! The grey wolf lunged, jaws snapping, and I dodged, the sudden scent of blood fresh in my nostrils.
These sheep belong to others, I tried again, snapping my own jaws, but refusing to fight yet.
The grey wolf had no qualms about attacking what he considered an interloper. Despite what I suddenly realized was an injury, the wolf charged, catching my shoulder, but the angle was wrong. his bite did little more than scrape at fur and flesh instead of puncturing and tearing as it should. I wanted to hold back. I wanted to fix his wounds. I didn't want to fight. But his aggression filled my nostrils, and I knew I'd have to best him to save my own life and the flock.
I hated doing it, but I fought dirty, knowing he was wounded. I twisted nimbly, getting a much better grip than he had and bit. I bit near where the smell of blood was strongest, near where I knew an injury lay beneath the fur. The wolf yelped and twisted away, clearly in pain. He snapped at me again, but instead I just threw myself at him, my full weight, into a take down. Injured as he was, he went down hard, and after too many futile attempts to get up to face me, he stopped. He bared his throat, resignation setting into his body.
He was waiting for the killing blow.