Nocturne Summit New Bohemia

As her breath continued coming in shaky gusts, Wildfire absently ascertained her injuries. She couldn't see the damage to her face, of course, but she could feel the torn flesh just above and below her right eye. Warm, sticky blood matted that side of her face. Her left shoulder was worse, deep puncture wounds that resonated like knife stabs. She did not bother trying to clean either wound, for as soon as she glanced over her injuries, her eyes (well, eye) returned to the beaten stranger.

She should have been horrified at what she'd done. Wildfire of before would have been sobbing out apologies by now, begging forgiveness for her wickedness and cruelty. (Actually, Wildfire of before would have never dreamed of doing something like this in the first place.) Wildfire of after, though? Now that the feeling of being overwhelmed had receded, she felt a whole lot of nothing. Crouching in the shadowy corners inside of her, there were other sentiments, though they were also rather amorphous and lacked any kind of real definition. Perhaps the clearest of them was this strange sense of satisfaction, almost relief, like she had just finished a really intensive workout.

Still Wildfire said nothing to the other wolf.