Blackfoot Forest The Death of a Warrior is a Noble One

he did not have long, but he would not pass alone. amara appeared among them then, while hosannah watched. she approached the hungry man and whispered to him - speaking so lowly that even the astute woman could not pick up on what passed between them. perhaps had she been closer to the boy she would have felt jealousy, or a keen anger at this display of apparent affection; yet she felt nothing. only watched, transfixed, as the life fled from gotham's body. she drifted forwards with silent steps; soon the sounds of sobbing could be heard, and she turned an ear to it, hearing samuel weep beside the body.

the body. this was what held her interest even before the spirit had fled. now that it was empty she slunk close, and pressed her nose upon his cheek - his neck - feeling for the warmth of life. hosannah nearly startled at the sound of samuel's call, and leered briefly at him; it seemed improper to her to announce such a thing, but this was a different place, and the people had different customs. when the announcement faded she raised her head as if defiant of them all, these strangers who surrounded her, and made her own announcement.

he is gone. it was said with such a dullness that one might imagine she was in shock, but hosannah simply did not feel for the boy. they had been wed but, as per her own traditions, never consummated that union — so she had lost nothing. she knew what must come next and these wolves would not like it; they were delicate creatures. she lowered her head and promptly sank her teeth in to his still warm cheek, and then yanked with all her might, peeling the flesh away. the chunk hung from her bloodied teeth and she seemed to grin over it, her large eyes great bright things filled with hungry need.