12-17-2013, 11:19 AM
Avery snaps her jaws at Hector when he comes near her. She shifts the bulk of her hunting form slightly in front of the cub that she and her packmate have been flanking at the moot, curling her lips back to snarl at the Uktena. As delighted as she was during the songs and tales to hear about the little Wyldling that was adopted into Cold Crescent, as high as her energy got during the Cracking, she is a live wire of energy that is nearly manic at this point. She all but vibrates with it.
It is easy to forget, when one has only seen her lead, heard her speak, watched her smile or laugh and toss her hair, that she is a creature born of rage. That she lives with the madness that preys on all of her tribemates, knowing it can only get worse, knowing that what clarity she owns now has a short, brutal lifespan. She has felt the edge of that sword on the back of her neck since she was an adolescent, and though for Avery it has only made her stand straighter, taller, speak up louder, she knows one day it will start to draw her blood.
Who wouldn't be angry?
Her eyes flash at the Wyrmfoe. Her teeth take some of his fur. She was born for the sunlight, and they are in the darkest time of the year. The growl she issues starts in the pit of her belly, like a fire sparking and slowly building.
Then not slowly doing anything.
--
When the howl snaps through the crowd, Avery is off like a shot. She wants to slaughter something tonight.
Maybe she will.
It is easy to forget, when one has only seen her lead, heard her speak, watched her smile or laugh and toss her hair, that she is a creature born of rage. That she lives with the madness that preys on all of her tribemates, knowing it can only get worse, knowing that what clarity she owns now has a short, brutal lifespan. She has felt the edge of that sword on the back of her neck since she was an adolescent, and though for Avery it has only made her stand straighter, taller, speak up louder, she knows one day it will start to draw her blood.
Who wouldn't be angry?
Her eyes flash at the Wyrmfoe. Her teeth take some of his fur. She was born for the sunlight, and they are in the darkest time of the year. The growl she issues starts in the pit of her belly, like a fire sparking and slowly building.
Then not slowly doing anything.
--
When the howl snaps through the crowd, Avery is off like a shot. She wants to slaughter something tonight.
Maybe she will.
my whole life is thunder.