<div class="floatleft">(http://i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn313/NovemberWerewolf/Female%20Characters/Half_Elf_Girl_by_kerembeyit.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Drake Turrel<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Reach, just outside of Markarth.<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Dusk<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Aelfgar, Open.<br/><br/>The cry that echoed in the canyon she nestled in was unlike any animal she had heard before; Drake had felt her heart leap into her throat from surprise. The elf was on her feet, bow in her hand with her arm halfway to the quiver before the sound registered to her ears; not an animal, a human. A battle cry that could cause the fur on a battle-torn bear to turn white with shock. The way it bounced off of the stone and twisted in her ears made it difficult to judge where it was coming from directly, but the voice that echoed this cry had Drake sprinting in the direction her gut told her to go. This was no cry of the Forsworn, and with Asher out of sight, the hunter could only worry.<br/><br/>She had good reason. There, further down the path and into the deeper passageway of the canyon, Drake could make out the massive form of Asher. His ears were pressed down flat, mouth open as he hissed at the brute of a man approaching a war axe. Even from this distance she could make out the sharp set of canines that lined the cat’s mouth, there was no doubt that the fool below had a better vantage point of those fangs. The cat’s bite promised dismemberment, if the Nord was too slow. Drake had enough time to realize how crazy this man must have been to challenge a cat of Asher’s size; he came up to the man’s waist, and rippled with sleek muscles. But crazy wasn’t an excuse, and he was challenging her companion. An arrow was notched as the Bosmer lined up her sight, letting the arrow fly without as much as a second thought.<br/><br/>Blood sprayed like a fine mist; the arrowhead embedded into the man’s hand, piercing straight through the flesh between the carpals until the serrated tip bit into the wooden hilt of his warhammer. She felt too much anger burning through her veins for her to give him any more warning than that shot, yet it was more than enough for the great cat to turn, bound away until he stood behind her. Asher was on her side, but the angry hiss that came from his throat was more sensation than sound; a bass so deep it vibrated in her chest and down the stony path towards the Nordsman. “If you<em>dare</em>try that again, Nord, you’ll find my arrow in your eye the next time! Walk away!”<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Note</div><div class="spoiler_body">For the readers and GMs: I swear Hannibal said it was okay for me to shoot him! ^__^ He knew about his poor hand ahead of time.</div></div>