Dead Empress Backwater we arm ourselves with the wrongs we've done

It's time to strap our boots on

Conquest

This is a perfect day to die

Torianna was diligent in her work, content to claim her prize proudly and (knowing her) quite loudly. Thus, she wanted to do the bulk of the work herself which would only ring true if she put just as much grit into helping Ozark as she had otherwise. There was a gentle hum as she worked.

And then there was a determined nod as the woman explained the next bit to her. It mattered little to her, pulling through it. She knew her mother would be quite displeased that she had not immediately come to her with the light injuries, and she could begin to feel the wooziness settling in as the adrenaline began to ebb away.

“Very well.” She stated simply as she began her work, her pace noticeably slowing the further down they got.

Ozark watched the younger woman, taking a break and directing her when needed: Bite and pull with your front teeth. At an angle down. Dont rip upward. Take it slow.

When she slowed, Ozark joined in again. Now, as the cuts were finished she began to peel skin from flesh. She used her paws too now, scrapping at the flesh connected to the skin as she seperated the two. If they wanted it don't quickly, they could, yet it was more likely that the skin would tear and be an odd heap or in several smaller pieces. Quite perfect enough for bedding. Yet- if Torianna wished to wear it over her shoulders with pride...

"On the morrow, we shall pick away all the wee bits wit' our front teeth 'n claws 'n swab it in the river. Then, we shall lay it out t' dry." She explained. Making a well made pelt was not a process done in a single day.

It's time to strap our boots on

Conquest

This is a perfect day to die

It was instructive, and perhaps the only kind of instruction outside of Eros’s that she had ever listened to in her life. Perhaps it was solely for her own gain, for the pelt she would present her mother with, without the stinking interference of her brother. There was no way to talk himself into the glory of what she had done, and she proved once and for all the power that physical strength had.

Khalon or Tuwile could sway whatever they wanted. She’d pummel them in no time. A satisfied smirk crept across her maw, her tail waving back and forth in excitement. “Excellent… I will sit guard with it.” She provided no context, as she felt it was none of Ozark’s business whether or not she continued to war with her brother for conquest and dominance and yet… the aching in her shoulder persisted. She’d need to get her shoulder looked at. “Could you sit with it? While I see my mother and get help with my wounds?” She asked, a sense of earnest need for it.

“My brother… he will surely steal the pelt and connive some lie claiming it was his, even with my wounds. I do not even want to give him a chance.”

Sit guard with it? Maybe the younger girl thought another coyote might come back this way, wanting vengeance for their fallen companion. Maybe even they simply wished for the body back, especially now that it had been so desecrated.

Ozark thought on this and in that time Torianna suggested instead that Ozark herself keep watching over the fur. She spoke of seeing her mother to tend her wound and although Torianna was a snarky thing, their was a sense of urgency in her voice. Then, an explanation. A thieving brother. A competition between siblings which might not have been all that the friendly of kind.

"Aye. I'll lay with it. He'll have to rip it out from under me first ta get it." She agreed, already beginning to lay the pelt flat, fur side up and lay down on it, pushing the edges with her paws to try and get it stretched out as much as she could. "Get those wounds clean. A scar ain't shit, but infection a creepin' killer." Tomorrow, back to work.