[Seasonal Event] Charity Meat

The older woman hisses to herself, baring her fangs to the emptiness as an arrow comes launching back at her; she watches it sail through the air and land in the empty grass not to far from her. A decent try, but it must be difficult to aim at night. Which is precisely why it’s so infuriating that someone else is out here. This is HER time to hunt. Wessex owns the night. Fucking little Outlander shits can hunt during the day, just leave the darkness and her home to the Naturals. New Gods, if she were Attuned, she would shift into something big and predatory and hunt that little fucker down. Buttt she isn’t. Instead, all she can do is smell and see and follow the trail to the other. So Wessex remains hunched over and slinks, one step at a time, through the crunchy snow, the cruel wind doing little to dissuade her move into the open. It isn’t until she’s at the water’s edge, hopefully hidden amongst the reeds, that she actually sees the ‘other.’ And then she’s all grumbles. “I could have killed you,” Wessex says with an audible growl, standing up and revealing herself. Her arms cross over her chest as she unwittingly epitomizes the disapproving mother; a fierce lioness just about ready to bat her half-grown cub upside the head for literally ruining their chance at dinner. If Melita goes hungry this week, it won’t be Wessex’s fault. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm