@Shrike
It had been a very long month. Killing and eating the meagre wolf-cub had given Hedda a temporary relief and strength to last for one more week. After that her fragile health went down-hill quickly. She had not wandered far from the caldera and yet no one had come looking for her, she had half-expected that a "squad of justice" would put an end to her suffering and she would be able to die honorably - "in battle" and not in a "soft and comfortable bed".
This had not happened, however, and she was left to wait 'till the Death herself came and claimed her rotten soul. Which she was in no haste of doing, apparently, because after every time Hedda closed her eyes hoping that this would be the last time, she would open them and see much the same world around her. And few days ago the old hag got fed up with waiting. Her lungs were failing her, coughing spells were often and her muzzle was smeared with her own blood and foam.
Up until this very morning she had not paid much attention to her surroundings, however, when a strangely familiar smell hit her nostrils, she finally lifted her head to have a good look. There was a lake and the scent came somewhere from the muddy banks. She half-walked/half-crawled towards the place, sniffing the air and the ground, until she found, what she had been looking for. The root of a hemlock was sticking out from the ground. She grabbed it between her teeth and clawed the ground to remove it.
It gave in easily and without hesitation, she chewed and swallowed chunks of it, taking no notice of the bitter juice burning her throat or the fact that the next hour was probably going to be the most painful in her existance. Yet... as Hedda lied on her side and closed her eyes, she realized that this one hour against life-time of struggle and pain was nothing.
ooc: she has consumed hemlock root, which contains deadly neurotoxins.
The fresh air did Shrike good, as he left the packlands, leaving behind mourners and those who had been quite quiet in the wake of the tragedy. He would have liked for the pack to come together more...But he himself was not yet ready to let go of the grief and anger he felt, so he patrolled the borders, assuming more solitary behavior as he protected the pack against any other intruders...But that would never be enough. He had made some very small ventures beyond the borders just to make sure that the murdering female had not come anywhere close to the pack, but when he awoke that day, he knew he had to broaden his search. He would stay within the Great Bear Wilderness, but rove a greater distance from the packlands than he had been in some time.
It did not take him long, though, to happen upon a fresh trail of scent that made him writhe with fury. She was still in the area- he simply had been sticking far too close to the borders to have had any chance of crossing paths with her sooner. His breath quickening, he raised his head and howled like a hound who had caught a fox's trail.
Shrike was an adept tracker and could follow the female's scent at a good clip, drool collecting in his mouth and frothing as he gnashed his teeth in fury. He cut through the tall grass like a scythe through wheat, silver eyes flashing like polished silver in the sun. As tired as he'd been, and malnourished too, adrenaline was sent singing through his veins, burning like battery acid as it churned his insides and spurred his muscles into action. There was no missing her this time- her scent was strong, he could smell her in the area, not just on the leaves and blades of grass she had touched as she had moved along.
He slowed as soon as he came close enough to catch sight of her, and at first, he couldn't pick her out. He expected to see her running away from him, as he had not been cautious in his approach at all- but instead, she lay on the ground, flat on her side just at the edge of the lake looking thin, sick and weak. Peregrine's words rang out in Shrike's mind and he felt satisfied knowing that, if she was as weak as she looked and not just pulling a trick, he shouldn't have too hard of a time hauling her close enough to the Caldera for the alpha pair to come and seek their revenge.
He approached at a walk, hackles lifted. He bared his teeth and growled as he stalked toward her, licking his lips and snapping his jaws to get her attention. He came within a few feet but was still wary should she lunge at him. He wanted to make sure he could fulfill his task without being injured or killed himself, and was not ready to simply trust that she was as ill and feeble as she looked.
A rule Hedda had always taken in regard, when she had practiced the art of poisoning, was to always test a little of the poison herself. Enough to cause symptoms, not enough to kill. For a person, who had never had a very straight moral compass, this was a rule that justified her doings in her eyes. If she could survive, so would her victims, were they strong enough to do so.
Over time she had developed an odd sense to feel, how the poison worked it's way through her body. She could hear it moving, flowing, taking over tissues, binding to the cells it was keen to destroy. Hedda felt it take over her now too. Half an hour had passed, since she had consumed it, nausea was wrapping her mind in thick clouds of mist, yet she was not entirely unaware of, what was going on around her, yet.
There was someone watching her death as some sort of a show. Or, perhaps, they did not know that her end was near, yet. She did not have it in her to lift her head in order to see, who was standing nearby, and a second later she realized that, once she was out, the beast would not hesitate to devour her emaciated, rotten carcass. Should she be honorable in her last moments of life? Seconds ticked by, while her foggy mind processed the thought, searching for the right words to put it in.
Another coughing spell followed, bright red blood dripping from her nostrils and corners of her mouth. After that she exhaled and said quietly: "My blood is poison."
As the beast lifted her head, she revealed an ungly strand of blood soaked spittle and a hacking cough, indicating disease. Shrike was partially satisfied, knowing that she was apparently quite near death, but when she spoke, he realized that those were the last words he wanted to hear. She was poisonous. It would mean any puncture wound on her flesh could possibly kill him too, any contact with her foamy spittle might sicken and destroy him. Peregrine would not get the revenge he wished, by killing her slowly, and Shrike was not completely sure he could- or should- bring her poisonous body back to the pack where she could possibly contaminate their water or make another wolf sick.
He'd made up his mind; this savage would die her.
She didn't look long for the world anyway, and simply trying to knock her unconscious without getting bitten in the process or coming into contact with her blood could be lethal for him. He had an idea- and it was a good one- but it would mean that he would have to wait until she was no longer a threat to him. Even a wolf in such dire condition could still bite and, in doing so, kill him.
"I'll wait."
Came the butcher-bird's reply, and he sat down, quite willing to wait as long as it took for her to pass out to carry out his plan.
Hedda did not hear his words, nor did she turn her head to see, who it was. The fog took her mind entirely just the same moment, when her whole body began to shake violently. Eyes rolled back in her skull, bright read foam came from her mouth and nose, as her carcass and limbs convulsed at an irregular rhythm.
The fit lasted for three minutes straight, then it stiffened in a very odd position - paws outstretched, back - arched, head drawn back and the unmistakeable sound of bones cracking and breaking somewhere. Then as if a curse was suddenly lifted, the old wolf became limp and very still. She let out a deep sigh and that was it.
Though the muscles were still twitching here and there and there was still fresh blood dripping from her nose and mouth, the blank and empty look in her eyes told that, who ever had ruled this body before, had left. Hedda was a free creature, because had died the way she had lived - by her own rules.
He would not have to wait long.
Though he had wanted to wait just until she had passed out before he either drowned her in the lake or broke her legs so he could safely drag her back to the Caldera, he was given neither option as the wolf before him went into spasms. His breath hissed through his teeth as he recoiled like a cobra about to strike, but he kept his distance from the reeking, convulsing wolf, whose body twisted at an unnatural angle, contorted and broke until it finally fell still. Could he have given her a better, more painful death? No. So seeing her suffer in this way- whether she felt the pain or not- was enough for him.
He moved forward cautiously, only when he was quite sure she was dead. He took one more sniff of her corpse just to reassure himself that she was, without a doubt, the wolf who had killed Peter. Scent confirmed, he took a few moments to ponder what to do next. Surely, she would no longer be poisonous, if she was dead...But Shrike knew nothing about poisons, and thus, he assumed he was safe. To be careful, he grabbed the nape of her neck where her coat was clean of blood or spittle, and began to drag her back to the Caldera where the pack could finally rest at ease knowing that the murderer was dead.