Kintla Flatlands The poison in your cup

The darkness had taken over most of her remaining eyesight, only the outlines of various shapes directed her attention. It was strange, to say the least. The absence of something she dearly valued gave her a peculiar emotion, one not of grief but recognition. When she obtained her eyesight once more, she was sure to not take for granted the things she did have. A pack, packmates (sort of), the skills she still had to survive and the fur on her back. Until this point, those things seemed to be so far away from any flicker of appreciation in her life. Not again would she gloss over their value in her life. But the one thing that was for certain, the dauntlessness she had to serve up revenge, she would never let go of. Though she could not tell the scent of the foreign female, she would forever latch onto the accent that she could not hide. If she ever, heard the tiniest flicker of similarity in accent again, the girl better pray to the gods she was saved from her ever growing wrath. 


Growing steady on her feet, she lifted her head from the shameful descend it had lowered. A malevolent snarl played on her lips as her vision became more focused, the shapes taking proper form once more. At times, her vision was hazy and dark, and other's, perfectly clear. The darkness came in waves, and currently, the sky was blue. Stepping over the carcass, she sized the girl up, almost foolishly. "You better run before I do something you won't like" She snarled, her ivory teeth barred viciously. Her tone was deathly venomous, a clear warning sign for any smart one (even a foreigner) to understand. At this point, not force on earth could stop her from releasing her fury. For the girl sake, she hoped she heeded her advice and started to run because not even herself could stop her from causing terror. And no silly blindness would either.