(of them, texas was the one that knew the country would come back to haunt her. one day. she did make that deal with zaaro, she even waited for it. a small part of her hoped that gut feeling had been wrong. that she could have begun to let her guard drop, allow herself to attempt moving on while waiting for the inevitable. that didn't happen. what happened was the day did come for her, there was no hiding or pretending siracusa wasn't always on her heels in some parts of her thoughts. except there's more to what she was saying.

texas didn't consider herself a true wolf, but that was a given. she considers herself a wolf still (even a lone wolf despite her friends) regardless of everything. because she did have one way of thinking about herself.) I don't need to be a true wolf to be who I am. Still a wolf, still a lone wolf, with or without the country waxing poetic about me. (her hands only pause their threats for texas to reach and remove one glove from her costume, the leather covering her other hand takes its grip back up. rough, harsh along her thigh to part her legs nice and proper. to run her now bare hand upwards with a destination in mind, a rather obvious one in their back and forth when it stops short of her panties. they're still turned on.)

Or are you saying that I have to consider myself a true wolf to know who I am?

(the gentle strokes almost feel like a mockery when cellinia decides because lappland did take her ear, she can make the most of something from their positions. her teeth tease exposed skin, nips and nibbles, scrapes along lappland's neck through fabric. maybe even threatening to bite it off from flicks of her tongue to leave a trail of wet marks and teeth near latching down in something almost bloody.)