Fae

The year 3952, in Fangstone, the capital of the country Rylva, in the realm of the Underworld.

In the woods that bordered on the outskirts of the urban city Fangstone, the first deer was spotted by a pair of hardy green eyes in the spring, and the pursuer's mouth never uttered a sound. Her paws treaded silently forward, her thin body poised and focused, her bushy sandy-coloured fur beginning to molt for the spring. Unlike as a human, most things are black-and-white. The smell of her victim was enticing and alluring…bloody, meaty, making her stomach rumble with delight. Additionally, sweet, lush scents had begun to ravish the area. Birds' songs fluttered through the air, humming serene melodies, exhilarating the joy and the zest of most woodland creatures. The doe's ears pricked up and she lifted her head, peeking around anxiously.

The wolf seized her chance, and darted forward at the unsuspecting prey.

With a terrified cry the deer dashed away, springing on her hooves into the woods as the wolf relentlessly pursued it, intent on running down her victim. The first deer of the spring, and she wasn't prepared to let that one go.

She quickly caught up, maintaining a steady pace, and snapped at its legs. The deer panicked and sprang forward, almost kicking the surprised she-wolf in the face. Luckily, she was agile, and she dodged and snapped at it again, but the doe angrily shook her off and she struggled to get a footing on the earthy ground again, before continuing her chase.

Bullets killed the songs of the birds and panic surged through her veins, as the doe began to run frantically in zig-zagged directions, and she had a hard time focusing as she struggled to evade any bullet that could zip past her while simultaneously keeping track of her prey.

A vicious snarl tore through her ears, and she halted in her tracks as she saw a massive, black wolf charge forward with such momentum in its robust shape she was mesmerized. It occurred to her that it was this wolf that the hunters were after, and not her! She growled in frustration at how they had interrupted her hunt, and let her prey get away.

Merde, she thought in her head, stomping a paw down on the ground. Her favourite swear word. Being half French, she was acutely familiar with such words. She hadn't always lived in the Underworld. Now, she hadn't properly talked to anyone in years. Survival hardens you.

She whimpered in sadness at her loneliness, hanging her head low. Life's hard as a lone, rogue wolf cheya.

While she liked humans and harboured nothing against them – she had lived with them for the majority of her life – she wasn't going to let one kill one of her sort-of own, either. Besides, she might make a friend, thus making her no longer solitary.

The wolf pounced on the poacher and wrestled the gun out of his arms, and effortlessly sank its jaws into his arm and the man screamed as blood oozed out, while the other poacher panicked, aiming his gun at what was supposed to be his victim. The smell of salt and rust invaded her nostrils and she crinkled her nose at it, and before the panic-stricken man even had a chance the gun was abruptly knocked out of his hands by the she-wolf, looming right in his face, snarling. The black wolf was about to take a plunge at him as well, before she gently ushered at him, let him go. She saw him widen his eyes in and cock his head at her unusual and unheard of (in Rylva, anyway) strong French accent, but he quickly reverted back to his ferocity, snarling and snapping his jaws at her.

Let him go? Let him go?! He is a filthy, corrupt Balinean, and they – along with all humans – loathe our kind! We have become a minority, second-class citizens! He crept closer towards her, but she stood rigid to the spot, breathing heavily from having ran all that time and from just now attacking humans to save this…obnoxious beast. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the poacher escape.

I've just saved you, and this is how you repay me? After interrupting my hunt as well. With a disgusted grunt she turned away from him and began to trudge away, her hopes for him to have repaid her with kindness diminished. To her annoyance, he followed her.

What are you doing? She growled at him as her nimble limbs carried her along at an ever-increasing pace. She did not like rude people. He jumped in front of her, blocking her path. She tried dodging around him, but his larger size obstructed her.

Do you want to fight? She crouched down and snarled at him, her muscles tensed up. He gave her a wolf-ish smirk, his sharp yellow eyes poised down at her with thinly-disguised pity.

Me? Ha, you've got no chance, lovely. She grunted at his pet name, but she couldn't deny his point. One look at his massive robust size indicated he had always had food, and he was larger than any ordinary wolf cheya as well. Conversely, her small, scrawny body was seriously underfed due to her struggle during the harsh winter. Her stomach grumbled and her legs wobbled beneath her, her bony knees weakening.

You interrupted my hunt. I nearly had her!

And you are getting on my damn last nerve. Go on, get out of here.

Yes, and hopefully I will not ever have to save your behind again. She mentally cringed at how she used incorrect grammar in English – it happens a lot with her. Speaking another language is hard, even if she is also half English. However, she was not born or brought up in England in the Earth realm, although she eventually landed here. He lowered his large head to her level and bared his large canines at her, eyes narrowed, muscles tensed, causing her to jump in fright with a slight whimper. She prayed he hadn't noticed.

My ass never needed saving, runt. He carelessly flicks his head to the side. What's your name, anyway? She paused and raised her head at him, standing straight and tall once more.

Why does it matter? She could tell he was growing easily agitated, as he took a few, thudding steps forward toward her, coercing her backwards, and making her feel ever smaller.

Because I need to know the names of the wolves I come across. I need to know the threats I face, along with those ratlegs, runt. He growled down at her, and with a whimper she collapsed and rolled onto her back.

Do not hurt me, please! He smirked and loomed above her, cool and proud.

I'm only teasing you, runt. Get up; I need to know the name of my intruder! At that point she immediately rolled onto her stomach and jumped up, snarling. How dare he think he could intimidate her like that? Who did he think he was, some sort of royal? A pompous con, that's what she called people like him. She liked how the English language was rich with synonyms that mean the same thing; it meant she could come up with ever-delirious nicknames and adjectives to call people with while incorporating into it some of her native tongue as well.

You will not ever know my name. Get away from me, and do not ever scare me like that again. She shoved past him and dashed off, shaking as she went and simultaneously letting out a breath of relief, embarrassingly aware of the fact that her incorrect English slipped out again. Her black nose picked up the trail of the doe, and she hurriedly trotted along, careful not to make a sound as the birds began singing again and the sweet smells of flowers and spring relieved her nostrils again.

Fae, that's what her name was. Fae Lesauvage.