[private] lost to the way we were

[sochi]

SOCHI

They square off and even though they are not entirely the same, they have similar threads that run through them. She recognizes it, responds to it on some primal level, but she manages to hold back with the barest of restraint. She uses silver threads of control to tie herself back, to keep herself from sinking into the absolute pit of her hunger from which she may never return—a hole she may never crawl out of.

The other mare agrees that she is not prey and Sochi only makes a noise of agreement in the back of her throat. Something that shows that she, too, knows what it is like to be thought of as prey and to know within her heart of hearts that she is not. To know that there is more to her than meets the eye.

But she doesn’t rise to the bait that the mare lays out so temptingly.

(Although she considers it.)

“No,” she says with a sharp smile, her teeth flashing behind her black lips, white and stained on the edges with her latest meal. She has never been one to be goaded into attacking if only because she doesn’t like the feeling of being ordered to attack. Sabra had tried it with her once and she had similarly dug in her heels. Something about being told to hunt took out all of the allure of the hunt itself.

Still, she doesn’t turn to leave or completely rebuff the pale mare.

“Although I would if I wanted to.”

After all, she always did what she wanted in the end.

she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed