Dead Empress Backwater falling is easy it's getting back up that becomes the problem

for @Isla only.

Asmund slunk through the snow-laden forest as quietly as he could manage to. There may have been many deficits in his skillset, but stealth was practically mastered by the mousey boy. The powder which coated the earth was different and had presented its only challenges, but he had completed that learning curve swiftly and was once more confident in his ability to get from A to B with minimal risk of bumping into anyone unintended.

Crossing paths with Isla again hadn't been planned, but he couldn't ignore her scent either. Anger prickled in his stomach as he recognized her proximity, and something gripped him at the spine and practically pulled him to her.

Asmund stood tall and glared at the girl from a distance of some yards, testing her first with his mere presence.

She almost didn't notice him for his silence. She only managed to catch a glimmer of mousey brown against the snow. Mildly surprised that he had even bothered to get this close to her after last time.

Her head lifted tall, her tail a banner as it arched over her back. Her stance squared slightly as @Rochus had shown her to do. This was not yet the proper stance of being prepared to fight him. Again. Instead it was a warning stance as she stared him down. He would be a fool to come closer, right?

Maybe he just wanted to try lobbing useless words at her again.

Instinct bid for him to clench his tail and hunch his shoulders defensively around his neck; the opposite of Isla's actions. Asmund refused, and while his muscles trembled he managed to force them to maintain that challenging stare. He was frightened by her, there was no denying that internally. Externally? Fuck her. This was his last refuge and he felt better when angry than he did scared, enough so to try and figure out ways to get around living with such a little devil.

He shifted on his paws, considering his options and estimating his own abilities. When she didn't make the first move, Az finally pushed a little further. With his lips pulling back in a sneer, he turned and lifted his leg, urinating unabashedly on the ground to mark it as his. The entire time he maintained eye contact, but not just out of defiance; if she budged, he would bolt out of her range.

She couldn't do shit to him if she couldn't touch him, but he could do plenty to irritate her from a distance.

(This post was last modified: Dec 14, 2022, 02:22 AM by Asmund.)

Asmund had been the spark of her violence. Asmund had been where she made a connection between hunting and fighting. Asmund was the seed planted in her ill growing heart.

He pissed. An act of defiance before her own show, so she dropped her body language. Tail now tucked like she had been instructed and ears splaying against her skull. Only instead of a squared stance, she now charged him. Hellbent on chasing him as far as needed, as harsh as needed. Admittedly she was not much of a runner. Most of her force came in quick, sharp blows.

And yet she felt confident she could scare him, even if she could not keep up.

There was something different about her this time, a marked intent that he had not recognized in her before. Asmund knew he had what he'd wanted, and his shivering heart threatened a flood of regret. Fear and adrenaline both surfed the blood in his veins as he turned and darted like a snow hare from a predator. It was too late to rethink this plan of action; now he could only pray that his body didn't fail him.

The ways in which they contrasted marked a balance of advantages and disadvantages, quickly making this riskier than he had anticipated. Asmund's thin body maneuvered betwixt and beneath brush, roots and trees alike with practiced ease, but his weakened musculature could only maintain such athleticism for a limited amount of time. She was healthier, stronger in multiple ways but hopefully utterly unable to keep up with the obstacles of the forest the way he could.

Either she would catch him and he would have to turn his teeth against her once more, or she would tire and he could maybe, actually stand a chance.

i hate how mean she is to him ):

She was destined to slow down eventually. So she decided to do it while she still had some energy. Hardly as much as the apparently speedy orphan, but still.

She knew the most important part would be to make sure her back was not turned to him. Wherever he had gone off to...

Cautiously, she let out a few sharp sounds. Hoping that he'd startle from them, or that something would. As it stood now, she had rooted herself squarely to the spot. Heavy breaths puffed her form as hackles flared. A salt and pepper porcupine.

Oh, Asmuuuuund...

Cooed out with heavy venom between her hard breaths.

Asmund could hear and feel her losing ground, and his heart dared to lift. Maybe something would finally work out in his favor after all. He kept up his pace, putting in distance between them before zagging and circling in a novice attempt at muddling the trail of scent he couldn't avoid leaving behind. The boy then hid, somewhere he hoped was clever enough to keep him safe, and waited.

Her voice echoed through the woods, and it sounded demanding to him. He frowned, brows knitting with determined defiance. Even if she just gave up and walked away, he would win. That wasn't the only goal here, though. If he could manage it, Asmund wanted to actually learn something about this latest enemy of his.

Asmuuuuund...

He approximated her location with his hearing, and searched for a path ahead as well as a plan B and C before taking the chance. He attempted to move from cover to cover, rather than lying in wait. If he pulled it off, he'd remain a disembodied voice she couldn't pin down. Experienced as he was with hiding, though, Asmund was still just a boy on weak, gangly legs.

"Oh shitheaaad," he dared to call back while maneuvering the shadows.

(This post was last modified: Jan 29, 2023, 07:18 PM by Clouse.)