Down By The Sea (Tag Ida)

Desdemona's powerful frame wound in an arc, her body thrumming with energy and radiating a sense of pure unbridled power. At the sandy dames aggressive response, Desdemona didn't flinch, not a growl, not a snarl, not even the barest exposure of ivory fang. She remained stoic and unreadable, an ivory stature poised and ready to move at the slightest drop of a feather. Her tail hung limp and idle between powerful haunches and she waited. She studied the much smaller females posture, reading the abrupt stiffness in her stance, the sudden halt of her gait, the way she held herself and the wild, almost intrigued look in her eyes. She didn't have manners but she had spirit, she had fight and whether or not they became enemies, friends or something in between it was something Desdemona respected.

Her ears twitched forward, that massive skull slowly raised until she stood at her apex height. She was monstrous, but then again her pack had bred amongst themselves to make monsters. Bigger, stronger, faster... she was literally born to fight, maim and kill. She turned completely, paws sinking into the soft sand as she closed the gap between them, her muscles rippled, her frame weaving slightly with no fear or apprehension present in her posture, only confidence and strength. She stopped only a few feet away, her dual colored orbs, piercing straight through the sandy colored wolf. There was no anger, just stoic, clinical assessment.

“Arrogance? Perhaps. What use have you otherwise to follow me if you do not crave my attention?” Her voice while low and calm radiated a dominance. Desdemona didn't need to shout or snarl to know her place or to have that sense of authority. Souls moved for her or she tore them down. While the dame was neither inheritantly good or vile, she had a tendency to lean towards what she deemed best for her and her own. If that meant the slaughter of innocents, she wasn't above it. “Surely it's not for a hunt. You seemed quite satisfied with your rotting crab.” Was that a mild jest that slid from her tongue? Quite possibly. Desdemona believed in mutual respect and if she wasn't given it, than why would she return it?

Dual colored iris's bore into the little spitfire, reading the lines of her body, preparing for a launched attack and nearly anticipating it. Desdemona was a dame of war and intense militant strategy but unlike most battle hungry wolves she was also tempered with a quiet wrath. She had a finely tuned control over the vast majority of her emotions and that included her temper. A real warrior did not bare teeth at the slightest hint of an insult. They analyzed the situation as a whole with meticulous precision... or so Desdemona believed. The sandy bitch may not have manners, but she wasn't fool hearted enough to simply dive head first into combat either which proved she had some measure of restraint... just what kind of creature had she stumbled across?

To the sandy wol's credit, she kept her own maw carefully devoid of most emotions, concealing her own feelings from view, it was perhaps a bit more lively than Desdemona's own stoic facade, but she certainly wasn't making it easy for Des to get a solid read on what she was actually thinking. Again... a touch of respect colored the ivory dame. If tempered and trained this small sandy creature would make a ruthless spy, perhaps even an assassin. Where most saw insult and disrespect, Desdemona saw opportunity... it was almost a pity that she was currently devoid of the bonds of a pack. Her tail twitched, the long, thick appendage coiling absently around her back thigh and relaxing once more, an old habit that she'd done forever when forced to stand still for one reason or another.

Desdemona watched as the small wolf dissolved into an unusual barking laugh once the coy words registered in her brain. Humor from insult when she's just been spewing venom for far less a moment prior? This really was a wolf of many layers now wasn't she? The ivory monstrosity didn't join the sandy imp in her laughter but she stood silent waiting for her counterpart to get a decent hold on herself and the words that slid from the smallers tongue next drew a rough and very unladylike snort from Des, her dual eyes revealing nothing. “Unfortunately for you, I have no desire to breed with another bitch. Too much estrogen and feelings. If you could kindly keep your saliva in your mouth it would be greatly appreciated.” The barest, smallest hint of a smile curled the very corner of her mouth, before it faded just as quickly as it had come, if she revealed anything at all it was the barest hint of amusement and nothing more.

“Hunger is not something I linger on.” Her intense dual colored eyes never left the smaller sandy colored fae, she didn't even glance at the small pool the woman had gestured too, instead her eyes crackled with a quiet fire, an intensity that practically sparked with life. “When I hunt, I hunt. I have never been a scavenger... and stag is a personal favorite of mine.” The words rumbled through her chest in that low, powerful baritone, but they crackled with just the barest hint of excitement. “I highly doubt anything in that pool could compare to the warm liver of a deer.” Desdemona's mouth watered just a touch at the thought and nothing more. She enjoyed doing most anything where she could put her skill set to use and a thick, still warm liver was just about the closest thing to Heaven that she knew.

“La douleur exquise...” The stoic wretch rumbled, the sound reverberating through her chest. “If I had more passion for the ties of love my heart would ache for you.” The witty snark slid from her tongue with ease. There was no humor, snickers, or laughter that accompanied the monotone words, but her attention remained entirely focused on the little sandy bitch. Desdemona possessed many flaws, but when she spoke with someone... anyone they got her complete and full attention. That notion was all about respect and while not the most warm or welcoming of souls, no one could ever accuse her of lacking proper respect.

When the topic switched to a hunt... Desdemona could not contain the subtle flickers of excitement. She was a carnivore and an apex predator. She lived to fight. It was in her blood, the marrow of her bones and when she was running, barreling through the trees be it for war or merely prey, Desdemona was in heaven. It was one of very few things that the ivory dame was truly passionate about and it showed. The sandy bitch listened, she may not be as enthralled as Desdemona herself but she was intrigued... which was enough to make ivory canine keep talking. When she'd finished, the off-white damsel trotted a touch closer, questions with undertones that Desdemona was suspicious of, falling from her tongue like rain.

Desdemona rose up onto her heavy limbs once more, ill content just sitting with idle chit chat and so, it seemed was Ida. “Questioning my abilities as a hunter? Come... I will show you what it means to kill.” Gracefully she turned, her massive, powerful body turning and setting off at a decent trot, she'd need to tangle herself back into the trees to find a stag. She wouldn't be able to run one down without the aide of another wolf, but if she crept upon one while downwind between the trees and caught him off guard... she had a chance. She was big and her jaws were wide but she wasn't fool-hearted or brazenly stupid. She needed the element of surprise.

“Ida... my name is Desdemona.” No pleasantries or quiet praises of having made the girls aquaintance, she wasn't one for such meaningless formality. She was blunt, abrasive and believed in getting straight to the point... one way or another. Her large ivory skull craned in the little wolf's direction, eyeing her for a moment as she debated on what to say. “I do not have a pack. Should I join one, a leader needs certain qualities for me to play submissive.” Her voice was rumbling and powerful, strong in that conviction. “I have debated starting my own.” Before she'd had no desire to rule, but the few packs she'd encountered on Lagratia seemed... nearly deranged to her. They were too caught in old ways, too kind, and not willing to do what needed to be done. Desdemona had no such inhibitions and she was unafraid to act upon them. If that meant taking on the mantle of Alpha... than she would do it or remain a rogue.

She caught the subtle scent of a stag and her gait abruptly changed, paws making almost no noise as she followed it. “Do you have a pack Ida? Or do you prefer to stare at the hindquarters of wolves from afar?” The hint of a teasing smile, curled the very edge of her mouth. Ah... but this little spitfire was entertaining.

Food was food to the ivory wretch but a kill... it was the concept and the thrill of the hunt that stirred fire in the pit of Desdemona's belly. She refused to become obsolete, she may not be used for war or combat as often as she used to be, but her thirst for staying active and keeping herself pressing forward had not waned. She trained regularly to ensure her thick musculature and her powerful frame stayed as strong and sturdy as she had always been and it showed. The woman's deduction of her rather long name had the large wolf blinking for a moment, before a comical amused grin curled the edge of her mouth and a soft snort was expelled through her nostrils. “An ivory demon? Unheard of, but I've been called worse. I'll accept it.” Demon. It brought to mind something far more terrifying and estranged than her.

They set off and while the sandy bitch charged ahead, nimbly avoiding obstacles and things in her way Desdemona didn't tense or snarl. Some dominant wolves were quick to temper if old traditions weren't followed, the more dominant and higher ranking wolves were supposed to press to the front, her ex-Alpha had taken that ideal very seriously... Desdemona had enough self confidence not to care. If the off white wolf wished to challenge her than Desdemona would accept and the fight would be on, but until then if Ida wished to bound ahead like a pup careening towards its mother than what did she care? It seemed petty and irrelevant to maintain such ancient traditions. There were far more important things in this life to stress about.

The silence that stretched between them wasn't awkward, if anything it felt concentrated. It was clear Ida was certainly up for a better meal than her one lone crab and so long as they had the same goal in mind, they were allies... at least for now. In truth the larger wolf preferred the calm quiet, she wasn't a wolf of pointless formalities or pleasantries, she preferred to get right to the point and press on with her day and at least to some degree... so did her sandy companion. Granted Ida did it in a round about way but given the chance to vacate the dismal beach and move onto better things and Ida snagged it. Once the scent of the stag reached them, both of them shifted like clockwork, moving on near silent paws and avoiding the brittle vegetation with a grace that only came with practice.

“Not all packs are domineering. A good pack has a decent layout of rules but allows their wolves the freedom to be their own wolf. Rules and regulations are fine but only if loyalty is inspired. The best way to cultivate loyalty is with a strong bond and giving individuals choices... not by dictating their every movement.” Her voice was calm, low, precisioned. “A wolf can only thrive if given the chance to fall.” Barely above a whisper so their potential prey wouldn't be spooked prematurely, she gave her opinion. Perhaps it wasn't the most traditional view of how a pack should be run, but it was what she was seeking... or perhaps what she hoped to carve. She wasn't sure if she wanted to take up such a mantle, but given the packs that lay before her... she was leaning more and more towards it every day.

As the closed in on the stag, Idea shimmied forward soundlessly and returned with a report that was both efficient and impressive. It solidified the idea that she would make an ample spy and assassin should she ever throw her lot in with any given pack. Desdemona's ears craned forward and her dual colored eyes turned analytical, gone was the stoic dame and in it's place a battle hardened warrior who thought with quick efficiency. “On edge will make him sloppy. The instinct of fight will be far more prominent than flight. No doubt he has a small herd of doe nearby that he's hellbound to protect.” She crept forward just enough to see the thing. She contemplated for only a moment.

“I will swing around wide. With the element of surprise and my size I can bring it down and thoroughly broker its attention, leaving it vulnerable for a killshot.” A quiet pause wherein she looked at the slighter, smaller wolf with a grin. “Lets see if those teeth can do more than compliment my ass.” She was taking the harder task with the greater risk factor for herself and delegating the job that was less risk... while still testing Ida's skills, to her companion. If she became a leader... she would not be one that sat in the back of her army. She would be leading the charge.

Desdemona moved, quick ivory paws pressing down into the dirt and lifting with hardly a sound, despite her impressive bulk she could slink with impressive dexterity. She would never be a subtle presence, she would never be as agile or as quick as some of the smaller more lithe wolves... but what she lacked in agility and speed she more than made up for in sheer, raw power and endurance. Anyone would be hardpressed to encounter a wolf who could last longer in a fight. She moved with quick but restrained concentration. She wanted the prey, she wanted the life of that stag, but she wouldn't get it by blindly charging the beast. She needed to find the perfect angle and formulate a plan in her mind. Regardless of how many wolves one had in the initial charge, it was a matter of who exposed themselves first that determined how effective or ineffective an attack was.

She looped around remaining upwind of the beast until she was slightly shifted to the right of the creatures hind end. It's massive head was canted just slightly to the left, leaving her in the small window of a blinspot. She positioned herself just so because she needed that extra half a second to get moving before it noticed her. She was slow to start but once she got her legs working furiously beneath her the ivory bitch was a freight train of momentum. She counted to five. A time honored tradition. Just in case the stag had heard any mild rustle, she gave him time to settle back down and assure himself that nothing was around.

She shifted her weight to her hind end, pressing down on those powerful thighs before she pushed off in a lunge. She burst from the underbrush with power, paws thudding into the soft dirt as she built up speed and momentum at a dangerous incline. She didn't snarl, growl or draw attention to herself in any way and that split second of surprise and loss of coordination on the stag's part was all she needed. It's 'flight' instinct kicked in, but it was just a fraction too slow. Desdemona's jaws splayed wide and she lunged, claws tearing into the thick meaty flank of it's hind right leg while her jaws came down harsh on the junction of leg and hip. The stag was too big for her to crunch bone, but she let tooth and fang sink in deep and ripped her skull from side to side twice before she quickly released him. She moved before he could lash out and kick her or turn that head of antlers around and spear her.

The heavy stag roared, thick slabs of muscle, flesh and tendon hanging limp on the uselessly rendered leg. He was... unable to run, which was exactly what Desdemona had wanted to accomplish. A deep and rough bark, drew the stags attention away from where Ida crouched dormant and she snapped her jaws at his chest and leaped backwards, just narrowly avoiding the deadly thrust of his antlers as she drew all of his attention... and left the left side of his throat exposed to the much smaller dame.

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The moment Desdemona saw movement pull from the bushes beyond the stag, the ivory bitch let out another rough, aggressive bark and paced her bulk to the left and foreward, moving like she was going to strike the beast and consuming his attention. The dame did everything in her power to buy Ida those few precious seconds of speed and precision she would need to bring down the rut driven stag and with a lethal amount of accuracy, and confirming her initial suspiscions that yes she would make an impressive assassin, Ida caught the stag in the throat and with the sudden smell of blood flooding her senses, Desdemona knew that her teeth had struck true.

Ida moved like a serpent, her thin, lithe body propelling across the moist floor of the forest and jetting to hide behind Desdemona. The ivory bitch allowed it and even herded her backwards, driving her away from the panicked stag and keeping the bulk of her own bodice between the two. She did this almost subconsciously. For now at least, Ida was an ally. She aided a successful hunt that Desdemona had led and the ivory bitch would protect her to the best of her capabilities. She had enough honor and pride to ensure that no one under her command would fall without she, herself, falling first. She snapped her jaws visciously at the dying stag when he drew too close and that earned her a small gash across her cheek from one the prongs. It didn't seem to phase her, she kept at it until he collapsed upon his front legs and then slumped to the trodden Earth below.

The heavy dame waited a long moment, ensuring that this wasn't a ruse in a vain last attempt to gore one of them, before Desdemona padded around the heavy set male and tore into his abdoman. She fished for the beasts juicy liver, but didn't devour it, instead she set it before Ida. “Tastes significantly better than a rotting crab.” Desdemona's stoic drawl was tainted by just a hint of amusement. “You look like you could stand to gain a few pounds.” More teasing. She certainly wasn't your generic brute, but then again other than a fierce soldier, Desdemona had never really fit any mold.

The ivory bitch herself went to attend one of the stag's back thighs, sinking her teeth into the thick, tough muscle and devouring a hefty chunk. She left the delectable, softer meat around the stags ribs and belly for her smaller counterpart. She failed to adhere to the stigma that the dominant should get first pick. It was her firm belief that it was the dominants job to see to the health of everyone around them first and even though technically she and Ida weren't anything more than meager aquaintances, at the moment the smaller bitch had thrown stock into the notion that Desdemona could and would bring down a stag and that simple vote of faith deserved to be rewarded... at least in Desdemona's mind.


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