The Hegemony of Aligned Systems

Wing charged, not wanting to lose the beast and mildly disappointed it hadn't fought. Still, a good chase would be all too much fun for all involved. Well. For the survivors it would be. With a roar, she issued her challenge once more, powerful legs propelling her ever closer to the beast they hunted.

Wing wanted to taste blood, and soon, and how. And if she would not, than her love could, and would. Always sensitive to him, she felt him grip her so, knowing that given how she moved that was, for him, the best way. Wing would have a fight out of this beast one way or another.

She planned on it. Planned the entire hunt on it.

For the fraction of the moment that it mattered--for what Kilja figured was the right length of time--she simply stood there, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck. She did not dare to so much as blink or breathe. Wing moved with great alacrity, but Kilja perceived her in that way she did when the adrenaline was high and her life was at stake; her assailant streamed through the air in fluid motion, and when she reached the point where Kilja judged she should move, her tightened muscles twitched into instant action. Speed was what she was banking on.

She dove low, her chin and chest skidding over the rough ground, spraying leaves and loam and small rocks around herself. She turned as she did, swerving in the opposite direction she had been going initially. Her head twisted around and angled her massive jaws up to try and grab Wing's neck in her teeth. She focused all of her new found hatred into her actions, channeling it into a coldly efficient and passionate management of her motions.

Grendel arrives from the up.