Thalassa
Thal watches quietly, assessing the fyrhund's every move and decision. She wouldn't have put her paw in that puddle. She wouldn't have turned the corner that fast. She wouldn't have needed to glance smugly behind her when the ROUS were close enough to catch their scents. The amused glow of her blue eyes seems to communicate this, the gaze full of skepticism and critique for the hunt thus far.
Certain she can hop in when things go wrong, Thal doesn't immediately jump in. She lowers her body, grateful for the blindness of her prey so she doesn't have to hide the deep glow of her molten fur, however, the soft sizzle of droplets on the damp floor might give her away, and she moves quickly - elegantly - into striking position.
A streak of danger against the wall, she moves to the ROUS's flank, attention split between the Ancient and their prey, still holding back as she waits for the other to strike. Her tail hovers, suspended above her tense haunches, betraying none of her growing anticipation or the exhilaration of possible failure for her to capitalize on.
Certain she can hop in when things go wrong, Thal doesn't immediately jump in. She lowers her body, grateful for the blindness of her prey so she doesn't have to hide the deep glow of her molten fur, however, the soft sizzle of droplets on the damp floor might give her away, and she moves quickly - elegantly - into striking position.
A streak of danger against the wall, she moves to the ROUS's flank, attention split between the Ancient and their prey, still holding back as she waits for the other to strike. Her tail hovers, suspended above her tense haunches, betraying none of her growing anticipation or the exhilaration of possible failure for her to capitalize on.
Bite my tongue, bide my time
Wearing a warning sign
Wearing a warning sign
