can't remember what the time in which we met

Daighre thinks he is still being followed.

---

From the ground jutted stone. Jagged, and claw-like. Like nails through bark.

He grunted, not really giving a damn about the towering rock. Instead scratching himself, his shoulder, against the base of one.

The desert now behind him.

And yet, still too fucking close.

“You still there, freakshow?” He asked, low, sneering, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the sound of footfalls.

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Atticus didn't enjoy open areas. As a naturally reclusive animal, she sought out places where there were an abundant amount of hiding places. As far as the plains went, however, this place seemed decent enough. Atticus could climb if she desperately needed to get away from someone, but in the meantime? It was herb collection -- all day, every day. The snow leopard made her way towards the shadows of one of the stone sentinels, depositing the herbs she had found in a neat little bundle. After taking a moment to appreciate her work, she turned -- and was met with a rather troublesome voice.

"Freakshow?" she replied, worried the man may have already decided she was as he said -- a freak.

@Daighre

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He turned—

And found himself face-to-face with a cat—big and spotted and grey—instead of her.

He snarled.

Snapped.

His body low and muscles tense.

Seeing.

Watching.

Waiting.



If it was fucking stupid enough to attack him first, he wouldn’t let it get away unharmed.

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Oh dear. Atticus' ears flattened against her head in surprise at the viciousness; she had never had anything but an amicable relationship with wolves before. This one was clearly not interested in small talk, however, and the leopardess kept her distance. "I'm just here to collect herbs," she said with a furrowed brow, gesturing to her pile of already accumulated stock. "I'm not here for a fight."

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It snarled and swiped—a furrowed brow, a moving paw, and words not understood—and he snarled in full in return.

Snapping teeth.

Ears pressed flat.

Black lips pulled back away from his teeth and gums and his muzzle furrowed and ridged.

And it was her again, right? The bitch from before? The fucking annoying, obnoxious one that threatened to fucking drown him like the coward she fucking was. The one that would rather call for a fucking mountain lion than face her own fucking battles.

Another problem.

Another cat.

Spineless solutions for a spineless fucking waste of space.

He wouldn’t let her get away with it again.

He snarled, stepping forward.

His body held low, and his tail held straight.

See if she would send another one when he was finished with this one.

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Oh, this was not going well. Atticus' ears slanted against her head as she moved into a near crouch, slowly backpedaling away from the man as he began to encroach on her personal space. There was obvious fear in her eyes as she glanced to her left and her right, deciding which was the best path to flee. "Please, I'm not here to hurt you, I just want to get my herbs and go--" the leopardess begged, pointing at the small cache with a fluffy mitt. Her claws were retracted for now, but as she continued to slowly back away from the man, she began to ever so slightly poke them from their sheaths. If she needed to fight, she would much rather already be prepared.

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It stepped back, cowering, retreating, and—

He sneered.

Lips pulled back.

Teeth on edge.

Just fucking like her, to send something as fucking cowardly as herself after him.

Tch.

The bundle of herbs unseen. Crushed, underfoot, as he took another step forward, low and slinking. His tail held high, over his back. Stiff and straight and unwavering. Legs partially bent.

Menacing.

Threatening.

Stalking.

Growling, low, in his throat, his chest.

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Atticus did not want to fight, she could barely fight! The leopardess was a healer, a lover -- she didn't know the first thing about actual combat. Against a wolf, no less! A man who could topple her lithe form over with ease, yet still he encroached upon her personal space. Atticus' teeth clenched as she stared him down, but with her back nearly against a stone pillar, she had no choice but to close her eyes and swipe out at the man threatening her with snaps and growls. Without a single clue what else to do, she simply swiped and swiped with claws extended, hoping (and also not) to land some sort of damage. Whatever would get him to leave her alone.

 

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He lunged—

And it reared, seemingly, backwards and upright onto its hindlegs. Trapped, against the jagged, jutting stone with its paws swiping, swinging, one after the other.

Claws, catching, ripping—slicing—skin.

His forehead, brow, muzzle, cheek.

Shit.

Fuck.

He staggered, backwards.

Blood pooling, welling, bubbling.

Pouring, from over his right eye. The eyebrow split.

And oh, it was gonna fucking get it now.

He snarled.

Tensed.

The spring loaded.

The gun cocked.

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Had she made contact? Atticus couldn't tell, didn't even want to open her eyes to check. The only thing she knew is that he wasn't continuing his approach anymore, and with that, she knew it was her time to make an exit. The leopardess spun on her heels, the herbs forgotten, and bolted as far away from the man as possible. She would rather live to tell the tale and be out some herbs than die at the hands of someone so angry. The woman sprinted as quickly as she could, eager to put as much space between them as possible.

exit

 

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It ran—

And he followed.

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