[open] spent all this time choking truth for lies; any

[sochi]

SOCHI

The frustration does not ease, it does not relent.

She feels knives in her throat, a constant ache in her bones, and the only way she knows how to get relief is in the hunt. She can lose herself in the chaos and the primal and when she slips into her tigress skin for the millionth time, she lets out a shaky breath she had not even realized that she had been holding. Her muscles are loose as she runs, as her paws eat up the earth in front of her. She is not hungry and while she has never been known for wasteful kills, that does not stop her from wanting to lose herself in the act itself. It is cruel, perhaps, but it is natural in its own way—and less destructive than she could be.

Sochi turns her attention to the forest, to the trees that twist and wind.

It is as much her home as anywhere else, now that she has left Loess for however long she is to leave. It calls to her in its shadows and she closes her eyes when she reaches its borders, ears flicking atop her head—searching for the things that she cannot see. The forest is alive beneath her and in front of her; teeming with life and possibility. She sinks her claws into the loam and purrs in the back of her throat, picking up on the various paths of creatures as they skitter, run, and stalk in front of her.

When she catches the sound of something heavier, something more sure-footed, she is drawn like gravity to the promise of it. She stalks low and quiet, whiskers twitching, until she is close enough to make out the shape of it—the scent that had previously been obscured by the others that flood her senses. It’s only then that she notices it is distinctly equine and it is a testament to her state of mind that she does not completely change her course, does not immediately dismiss the idea of it.

Instead she pauses, yellow eyes flashing in the shadows, contemplating.

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

[Sinner]

there is but one rule
hunt or be hunted

Hunger is all he feels. The hunt is all he knows. It consumed every part of him. Taking control of every thought that crossed his mind and his heart’s desire. The voice whispered to him, haunting him, and guiding him. He had let himself go. Allowing the hunt to consume him. Forgetting every memory and thought of ever being part of the modern world. It had been unnatural for him. Obeying the rules of a society that was bounded by laws, limited by boundaries. He was ever meant to be bounded by rules, but only what nature had made him and intended for him. A monster is what nature had made him to be. A killer is what nature had intended for him. He knows nothing else but this. A hungry that is fueled by the hunt. Never fully satisfied. The hound found himself in a place where he truly belongs. The simplicity of nature. Where there is no laws or limits. It was simplicity—the prey and hunter. He doesn’t remember the last time he had transformed into his original form—a dark bay horse. It felt unnatural to wear it, even to be able to shift into an equine at all. The hound had never felt bounded to it, considered it an entirely different being than himself. But he wears it now, drawing the source of the scent to him. It was a scent of a forgotten memory, a world where he had once been part of a civilization. He had been someone at one time, but he was nothing like that now. The hound had considered tossing all thoughts away, forgetting the familiarity of another life he once knew. However, something deep within him stirred to not dismiss it. When she pauses, he turns his dark gaze to meet the gaze of yellow eyes staring back at him. For a moment he feels like he is staring back into his past, to a time where he had once been one of them. The silence is long, eerily, but he says nothing in the silence, doesn’t even look away from her gaze. Still he is not sure why he is here. “Sochi,” he says softly. Then his dark colored lips curl into a wolfish grin.

Sinner

the hound

@[sochi]

[sochi]

SOCHI

She hasn’t thought of him in months—years.

Hasn’t thought of the fury of what he had done, the primal rage at losing in their fight and the trauma that had followed. But she does now. It mixes with the heady frustration and anger she feels now, the reckless chaos that stirs in her blood as she twists to look at him, her eyes narrowing in thought. He comes into focus and her hackles rise, lips curling back, the ivory of her teeth showing against her pink tongue.

“Mutt,” she spits out the name like venom and takes a step forward, feeling a heavy paw sink into the earth so recently washed with rain. He grins and she wants nothing more than to rip it from his face; wants to see what it would be like to cleanse herself in his blood. Would she feel vindicated? Would she feel healed? Would she finally find some relief in the aftermath—would she be able to sleep?

It doesn’t matter. She can’t back out now.

Another step forward and her tail twitches behind her.

“Have enough time to lick your wounds?” her voice is harsh, the husky roll of it tinged with some humor as she imagines what it must have been like for him to lose his kingdom. To have it all ripped away from him. She ignores the fact that it was Castile who had done it. The same one who had caused her her own pain. It doesn’t matter because at least Sinner had felt his own pain; at least he wasn’t immune to it.

She smiles although she feels no joy.

She feels nothing but cold fury rip through as she takes another step forward.

Into the madness—into the endless, beckoning promise of it.

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