Punishing was the watery cold that embraced her, stunning her coat and stupefying her senses. The water she had struggled through since the Bay had been brutally icy -- sloughs of her skin she felt burning. Even her paws had become numb to the coarse sand beneath her and Caiaphas wondered if this is what the grave felt like.

Drawing forth from the ocean she shivered and issued a mighty shake, expelling quickly the water that accumulated in her coarse fur. She was pleased with her handiwork and it showed -- a cruel smile lanced her sharp muzzle as she reflected on her evening's 'duties'. She thought herself exceedingly clever -- not only had she planned her attack strategically in such a manner that the Duskfire wolves would immediately suspect Ragnar's keep rather than hers', but when they trailed her they would find her trail disintegrated into the sea's salty clutch.

Her mood was considerably lifted -- and with a titter, the wraith dove towards a flock of seagulls that had gathered about. Shrieking, the gaunt wretch fell upon them and sent them scattering into the greyladen skies.

Like a pregnant stormcloud sharply punctured, the birds scattered -- their shrieking calls inflected calamitously upon the open skies. A dark dagger fell among them, a whirlwind of onyx plume and shadowburst -- and as Caiaphas watched the volitation besiege them she recognized the grim harbinger as Bartok.

"Bartok the Beak!" The gaunt hag chittered, haranguing the revolving sphere of birds with her sharp teeth. Nothing could elate her more than the prospect of torment after her insidious deed, and she carried with her a most darkly jovial aspect as she plucked a bird from the sky and sent it caterwauling in an undignified spiral upon the frozen sand.

Their play, more of a slaughter to some, invigorated her wearied limbs. She pounced upon those that the streaking bird flung downwards when she could -- others who were unfortunate to flap too close to her flinging jaws were sent tumbling to the ground only to be slain.

However, the scatter was shortlived for her -- dutifully, she watched the raven ravage those in the sky. He looked not unlike a gloomy missile -- a stark black against whirling stormcloud grey. She lacked the graceful wings to carry herself upwards with him -- and instead witnessed the spectacle as a piteously earthbound derelict.

Perhaps Bartok would weary of his endeavors, and flutter down alongside her -- but for now, she delighted in the cacophonous chaos he delivered to the heavens above.

Once Bartok had finished committing the last of their quarry to Charon's clutch, he merrily concluded his work by hailing the drudge-dog. Caiaphas watched him curiously as he gamboled over to her. It seemed there was nothing in the world that could unite two psychopaths so quick as the cheery slaughter of beachbound avians.

"Hi bird!" The wretch cawed in reply, her expression devoid of its usual dour charm. She eyed the carcasses that littered the shore, their ruffled feathers swirling in the gentle beach breeze. She was proud of their handiwork.. you know, in that sad and scary sociopathic sort of way. "Hungry?"