As a creature she was designed to live amongst Mother Nature and overcome whatever obstacle she deemed to thrust upon the she-wolf. Weather was a condition that she could easily adapt to including whatever terrain she was on. Any threat that crossed her path was quickly eliminated. It was just her way even though she was not one that wanted to engage with such violence all the time. Every now and then violence was the answer, but it didn't have to be the only solution. Perhaps it was a fear she had, a fear that if she admitted she enjoyed taking the lives of others that she would be put down for allowing her feral mind to overcome her judgment. The human side of her mind ordered the timid woman to kill only when it was justifiable or needed. To kill prey was understanding, but to kill another human creature, well, that was a difficult thing to swallow. Even when her cousin, their heir to her Sister Pack, would come to kill her with Isolt Raven always turned the other cheek. The young woman would rather humiliate him and destroy his pride than step down to his level and commit murder. Yes, in her feral state she had murdered her pack, but she didn't mean to...there was a difference. At least, that is what she told herself when those despairing nightmares began to resurface.

Although her deviant companion preferred her to walk barefooted, because shoes would make her sound noisy, each step she took was soundless, a practiced art now come natural. Perhaps a bit too natural. Her scent was mixed with that of the leopard, the only male she allowed to approach her and stay at her side, the abused woman unable to trust others so very easily. With the mixture of her shadow and the thickness of the grey fog swirling around her she was discreetly concealed. As she made her way through the dark woods her head would tilt slowly as that delicious, yet ominous scent, drew her closer towards the peculiar creature she was looking for. As she rounded the live oak tree she would catch a familiar outline resting easily against the tree. Approaching cautiously towards the unknown male she would only stop until she was at a safe distance. Like any predator she studied the individual attempting to decide whether he was of equal footing or a lowly prey. While her shadowed armor continued to encase her with the mixture of the thick fog, the moon felt the need to expose its silver rays upon the scarred woman. Tonight she had her hoodie's sleeves pulled back to reveal old scars that looked like they were done to her yesterday. Each mark held a bitter, agonizing memory, one that she attempted not to remember. Golden-brown curls continued to shape her face, as they cascaded down her shoulders while the wind blew. The silver rays of the moon exposed her face, those long four jagged scars left deep impressions on what would have been a beautiful face.

Those blue-grey eyes carried so much hidden pain, so carefully hidden, and yet the eyes were the windows to the soul. Her very own soul was fragmented and bent and broken to pieces, and yet from all that pent up anguish, pain, and sadness was slowly being healed. Yet time heals are scars. Some scars can't be healed up so quickly. Looking upon the male before her she already felt the natural need to get away â€" males were untrustworthy, they were not safe and she hardly wished to stay within his presence. Yet she did not flinch or cower she only stood there as silent as this night. One hand would lift and stroke the titanium cat figure that laid against her neck, a special trinket that held far more importance than any object she ever owned. Those painful eyes of hers noticed the deadened look in his gaze and that funny metaphor came to light...perhaps he did indeed did not have a soul. However, there was another thing that caught her eye it was the strand of blonde curl that remained within his tight grip, almost as if he did not want to lose this tiny object. Although it did not look like it, she was on the edge, so very well aware and ready to take offense or defense as needed. There was a look about him, a familiar wild look that she was familiar with seeing from Tobias, and she was not afraid of him...just curious. The lupine was able to taste Death on him, but what he was she was not sure...at least not yet.

I'd Rather Feel Pain Then Nothing At All

Raven