Hibernation Point Disc Thirteen

Eira stood at the jagged edge of the mountain, the wind howling around her as if it, too, mourned. Her heart hammered in her chest, a wild, frantic thing, drowning out the wind, the sharp whistling air that whipped her fur and bit at her face.

Her lips parted, trembling at first, then curling as a wail tore its way up from her core.

She screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.

It wasn’t just grief. It was rage. A primal, burning rage that surged up from the deepest part of her, untamable, fierce.

Her paws clenched at the rock beneath her, dark nails digging into her palms until the skin split, but she welcomed the pain. It was a reminder that she was still here—still breathing—when everything else had been ripped away. Her cry rose again, louder this time. She screamed for the injustices done to her, to her family, for the betrayals that had carved holes in her heart, for every time she had doubted her intuition, and been lead farther down this chase like a pig with a carrot in front of its nose. She had been used by Herod. She could see that now.

And now, she was going to kill him.

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Descriptions of Murderous Intent, Violence

The little bird had flown from Godsmouth's makeshift camp. As Herod informed him, it frequented the mountain ranges. This day was no different. Fierce winds ravaged the the stone spire. The cold mountain air swirled and raced down the stone paths with a viscous bite. Nature's cruelty was all too familiar, and Ransem navigated it well.

The little bird's trail climbed and climbed. He needn't put his nose to the ground, for it sang high above. A wailing melody snatched by the wind to cascade down to the slopes below. Ransem's gait was slow and deliberate. Torn ears cupped behind him. The mountain reeked of bear. It would be terribly early for one of the large predators to begin bedding down for winter, but the man could not risk instigating a bear's wrath during this endeavor.

No man wanted his hunt stolen.

He could see the grieving woman ahead, fractured and coming undone at the seams with each passing scream. Overburdened with each loss and that rage that came as a consequence. Ransem was no stranger to wrath. He had long accepted it as part of his being. It was a powerful thing; he knew well enough what one could forge from unrelenting anger.

It was why he held no pity for her.

Elveera Snowbird was no less an animal than the deer that fed him the night prior. Wolves held themselves above such thoughts, but it was the rotten truth none wished to swallow. The will of the strong overpowered the weak, and those that hesitated are left behind. Strength was an abstract concept in many regarding. Coming in forms such as mind, body, will, and numbers. Each form as fallible as it is powerful. The wrong application of strength results in loss.

Every animal has a weakness. If she could not find the resolve to channel her anger then she was weak. Ransem had mastered his long ago.

It is a hunter's gaze that bore into the back of her skull. Calculative, hungry. The hunter's body lowered in a stalk, head leveling with his chest. Tattered ears tilting forward. The wind drowned by the sound of his own heartbeat. An long inhale drawn slowly, preparing for the struggle. Breath caged within his chest, the hunter assessed the distance.

A heartbeat passed.

Then two.

Surging forward with jaws wide, Ransem lunged for the Snowbird's neck. He held every intention of crushing the song from her throat should his strike land.

Eira heard the warning sound too late. She turned only in time to see the flash of teeth before they connected with her throat.

Power so immense that the effects were immediate. Eira fought with every ounce of strength she had, her limbs flailing as she clawed and kicked, her body twisting desperately, hoping to create any kind of space. Her breath came in gasps, but still she managed to wrench herself free, staggering back until her paws found no more land to retreat upon.

Ransem, the snowbird choked, Whatever he's payin' you, I'll match it—I’ll-I’ll double it, just let me go.

Like any hunted animal, she turned her head.

His mark off, his teeth sink in the loose skin of her neck. Panicked breaths escape beneath his grip, so he tightens the vice. Forelimbs reach forward to seize her flailing body as she writhes across the ground.

A snarl errupts from deep within his chest. Rust coats his tongue. Her pulse rabbits mere millimeters from his teeth. With a desperate jerk she tears away from him, leaving her fur clutched in his teeth.

Sloppy.

Goldcoin eyes stare down the trembling bird. A wad of dove-gray fur is spat on the ground, it leaves a crimson trail.

She begs. She bargains. She knows that her life isn't grasped within her own hands.

It rests within his.

He takes a pointed step forward, paw reaching forward across the stone. His space to maneuver. He crowds her towards the edge. Frigid stare upon the failure of a matriarch. A woman who greedily accepted the lies fed to her. She willingly allowed the wool to pulled over her eyes because her whelp died.

You haven't got a damn thing left, Eira. His voice is void of emotion. Only a cold statement of fact is spoken. You ran halfway across the world hoping to kill someone. Folk that have something, they don't do that.

Ransem guards himself. She is cornered; her back is against the proverbial wall. He eyes her position on the ground. The ledge behind her, the mountain cliff below. He had no intentions of failings, but he wasn't about to get dragged down with her.

He graced her with a chance to respond. Gaze attentive for her next move.