Stavanger Bay you haven't felt my wrath until you've felt my hands on your chest

erzsébet moved along the strand in her neverending search for blood. there had been a dark dearth of maidens as of yet, of any wolf to be truthful; ferahgo's ranks had dwindled to an exposed skeleton crew, and the pale woman had ranged from the isle for the scene saddened her.  

a feminine cry razed the calm of the moment; pale ears cupped toward the echo, and erzsébet moved in that direction at a slow clip. there came the form of a woman, darkened and sea-brined, digging frantically in the cold sand. the countess drew close but offered no word nor succor; she merely watched.