Crying.

[crying]

Dawn sunlight filtered gently through brightly colored boughs. Splashes of orange and red light mingled with brighter patches of pure gold, dappling the forest floor as if it was an endless canvas upon which fall could spill its beauty. But not all was right with the forest. Enormous behemoths of death stood within that wood, their twisted and cracked black limbs clawing towards the sky. They were the harbingers of death - messengers crying out of the devastation that was to come. No longer could one walk through that forest without being in the shadow of one of the great, dead trees. And yet they stood so benignly, unaware of the doom they foretold, innocent to an extreme. Crying began to snarl, her auds pressed firmly pinning against the short pelt of her dial, her kissers peeled back, revealing bloodstained ivories, razor sharp to the very tips. Her glacial pools began to fade to slits, a rustling snarl of a low, defensive tone sounded from her parted mug as she began to brace herself, aware of another unknown presence in the territory. The ripples of her creased muzzle began to quiver and quake as her pendulum started to raise, showing her dominance. Tiny, crescent shaped blades began to emerge from the fur of her treads, clapping against the hard floor of the stone ground that held her thick mass. Her delicate movements casted, a gentle wave of white and gray which formed every now and then as each strand of her shaggy coat parted from each other. Her appendages began to stiffen greatly, her body prepared itself for what was coming next. Crying's skull began to lower, as did the front of her frame like a groove, her front pads began to extend forwards, and her hind lifted higher extending her hind stick-like legs till' they were straight in the vertical positioning, her eyes began to lock onto the canine, giving a final growl, her nape began to extend slowly, releasing her final warning. Behind her tightly clamped shut jaws her tongue tickled behind, running along the rough surface of her tools of massacre, pouncing forwards, collapsing on top of the hessian. "Who are you and what is your business here?" she spoke in a threatening tone, her fore paws pressing against the chest, ready to rip into the soft, thin surface of the flesh she stood pinning down upon waiting for a response. The fire in her eyes building up greatly the loyalty to her pack took over and the gleams of determination in her eye gave a very clear warning that without answer, somebody was going to meet death.

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