[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 10pt; width: 60%; text-align: justify;"]Dogs. Melantha never really liked dogs. Nothing personal, of course. Actually, she is not really sure why she experiences negative reactions towards canines. Her memories are...shattered. Broken. Filled with vague images of lush green forests and bone-chilling tundras. Of laughter, of screams. However, there is a scar on her shoulder, shaped like the jaws of a dog, where an unknown creature clamped down on her skin, tearing flesh and ripping tendon. That leg often becomes sore. Never too much as to impede her movement, just a constant reminder of the dangers of life. Mel is sure that a dog gave her that injury. Perhaps that is where the prejudice arises from. A fear that she cannot quite remember, but is ingrained onto the very wiring of her brain.
Even so, the lithe puma approaches Butch and the stranger with the grace characteristic of all felids. A stone-faced expression neutralizes all emotion upon her angular visage, pallid olive eyes sweeping across the mutated form of the young cane corso. She is large for her species, and not even fully grown. "We live here," answers the strong arm in her low, rasping voice. She is not much older than the pup, and if she knew where her parents were, she would not leave them for another six months; but the young female carries herself as if she is much older. And much more closed off than most youth. Chiseled muscles ripple beneath the solitary wildcat's pelt as she slows to a halt beside Butch. "Are you lost?" Clearly the boy is, but Melantha does not like to assume. Maybe Lazarus already joined but she does not remember? It's doubtful.
Although the young huntress is not aggressive in her stance, she does not sit. Mel does not trust strangers, and will not put herself at a disadvantage should they choose to strike. Her gaze lingers on the powerful jaws of Lazarus. Those are weapons she wishes to avoid. Her old wound seems to ache in agreement. "My name is Melantha and this is Butch. You're at the edge of the Pitt's territory." there is an awkward nuance to the way she speaks; cold, yet somehow uncomfortable with the act of communicating with another. She prefers silence and solitude, and though she is capable of performing the interrogation duties when meeting a stranger at the border, she would rather not. She will do her job, however, whether she likes it or not.
Even so, the lithe puma approaches Butch and the stranger with the grace characteristic of all felids. A stone-faced expression neutralizes all emotion upon her angular visage, pallid olive eyes sweeping across the mutated form of the young cane corso. She is large for her species, and not even fully grown. "We live here," answers the strong arm in her low, rasping voice. She is not much older than the pup, and if she knew where her parents were, she would not leave them for another six months; but the young female carries herself as if she is much older. And much more closed off than most youth. Chiseled muscles ripple beneath the solitary wildcat's pelt as she slows to a halt beside Butch. "Are you lost?" Clearly the boy is, but Melantha does not like to assume. Maybe Lazarus already joined but she does not remember? It's doubtful.
Although the young huntress is not aggressive in her stance, she does not sit. Mel does not trust strangers, and will not put herself at a disadvantage should they choose to strike. Her gaze lingers on the powerful jaws of Lazarus. Those are weapons she wishes to avoid. Her old wound seems to ache in agreement. "My name is Melantha and this is Butch. You're at the edge of the Pitt's territory." there is an awkward nuance to the way she speaks; cold, yet somehow uncomfortable with the act of communicating with another. She prefers silence and solitude, and though she is capable of performing the interrogation duties when meeting a stranger at the border, she would rather not. She will do her job, however, whether she likes it or not.