these hands made of splinters

He settled in to gnaw on his choice antlers right then and there and for a moment, the fiendish thought of trying to take it from him crossed her mind.  It had been a while since the opportunity had presented itself; her time away had not allowed her to partake in the follies that she would have normally carried on with.  But she held her ground, neither swaying nor bringing herself to rest on the damp earth.  And where she thought he would begin to lose interest with her lack of conversation, he instead continued it with questions of his own.

But had she learned anything?  "No," she answered.  She knew that Tartok would continue to spread.  That as they covered new ground and made claims of their own that they would always have those that would come to their aid.  After all, there had been the wolves who had rallied beneath Tonravik, their common bond shared by one place or another.  And they would continue to draw in those that were worthy, that they could make use of.  That would hold their ideals.

"I know of the troubles that occurred here while away.  That Tonravik desires their blood for their ignorance."  Absently, she licked her chops.  These were things that she wanted as well.  They were meant to be strong and savage, to come and conquer.  And yet there were the feeble who persisted in testing that boast.  "We will make an example of them."