@jeoseungsaja | the GBEP
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Among the many animals to hop and hunt and run about forest floors, foxes aren't exactly the strongest on the list. Take a red fox, it usually shares its habitat with bears and wolves, or even elks and deer not small enough to be prey, large enough to not be competition but certainly threat.
That's perhaps where the legend of the 'cunning fox' had come from, who knows. A small predator who knows its way around quick, small feet, who slinks and rests its chances of survival on agility, and on needing less to survive than other predators in its area much better at killing, much better at eating.
But, being so small, being so nimble, being up against competitors with larger jaws, larger paws... foxes are easily frightened, too.
At least in Yuri's case.
At least in Rang's case.
A fox' cry has been compared to the pained, terrified screeching of a female voice for good reason.
Yuri is looking at Yeo with the large eyes of a cornered animal, not of a predator who thinks itself at an advantage in a fight. Yuri doesn't believe in her prowess to fight against Yeo because she's arrogant, misguided, but because she needs to win against the bigger threat, because her survival depends on it.
Yuri doesn't stare Yeo down because she wants to take him down but because she has to get him to understand, as subconscious as the urge may be, that she will die in an attempt to remove him, if he threatens what little she has:
Rang.
Rang and her, two foxes, sœur et frère, bones exposed, hinds lame, in the woods somewhere.
She doesn't like his attitude at all. He stinks. Stinks of inhuman blood, of healing wounds, of age and expertise, he looks arrogant in her eyes, threatening for the position in Rang's life he occupies, the spot she doesn't understand. Why care about him at all? He looks like he's just waiting for the right opportunity to die.
Good.
Die.
One less thing to worry about, she thinks, with all the malice of a child who doesn't understand what death is.
I hope you die, the child says, thinking death means nothing at all, only understanding 'oh, how quickly adults pale at the word'.
Her gaze flickers between the door and him repeatedly, chewing his words over. She's not particularly witty, words mean little when she has claws and teeth, she's never used them to fight. She doesn't have a good retort, even if her eyes narrow in understanding that she's being target of mockery.
All the more reason to shoulder past him into his den.
She explores his place with her nose first, two steps in - flowery - before turning to stare at him again.
"I'm not scared. Or concerned. I'm bothered. By you. You sound like far more trouble than you're worth."
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