Lost Creek Hollow don't you weep and don't you worry

Something had gone wrong. Harlyn had deduced it long ago that something had failed in her sacrifice of Ilya to appease the gods. The demon they created continued to wreak pain upon the Hollow and those Harlyn cherished most. One of theirs remained in its claws, another now home but damaged by its teeth. There were so few now left in the Hollow to defend them. It truly felt as though one by one, the pack had been picked off, as though the beast were checking off a list that ended with her. It was a terrifying thought, but only because there were three other names still upon it that had not been touched; Silas. Lark. Pippin.

"What are we to do, Mordecai?" Harlyn moaned, the careful control she had worked so hard to keep together beginning to show signs of crumbling, "We have no one but you and I left to defend the Hollow. Our children are too young, and they are too helpless to defend even themselves. What does this beast want? What can we do to appease it and make it leave us be?" She knew that there were no answers to these questions. They couldn't pick up and leave; it would only follow as was the will of the gods that played its puppeteers. Harlyn knew very well that there was no hiding from their wrath - it had never worked for their ancestors, and it would not work for them. It seemed hopeless.