Firefly Glen well shit

The monster had been lurking in the shadows of the marshes, with the mud and muck clinging to her pelt as she slithered through the waters. Her burning ember eyes glared with a trembling sort of ferocity, the unknown power surging from within her causing her pelt to shudder. She was a creature, a monster, of no true purpose or aspirations, but merely survived and excelled in life by relishing in the satisfaction of current desires and impulses. Simple urges that would send her forth, molding each of her days as a new one that could not, and would not ever, be replicated in its exactness ever again.

A hefty, gurgling exhale that rumbled through her throat as the she-beast began to wade out of the waters, her paws gripping and thrusting against the shifting mud beneath her. The she-beast had fled from the previous battle, but never surrendered. A creature with intentions as spontaneous and varying as her own could never call one situation a victory and the other a failure - there was no goal to compare the results to. Instead, she simply claimed her prize and learned to be proud with the minute achievement she'd stacked up. A lone group of wolves - a family, likely - had found themselves in the unfortunate measure where the she-beast stumbled upon them and found herself irritated.

Daddy dearest didn't make it.

So with a face laden with the unsurprisingly stoic features, the bitch hauled her prize with her as she traveled. Perhaps it was a bit sentimental, but every day since then she'd take a little time to gently lick and bathe the corpse, her fangs nibbling a bit here or there to devour her victim one bit by another. Her teeth would grate themselves against the resisting, putrid flesh that lay buried beneath rugged, stiff fur. This creature was as disgusting dead as he had been alive, and would soon cause revolt in her guts.

But for now she wandered, her lumbering form shifting through the deep shadows that sunk low in the air, burnt out only by brief glimpses of flickering firefly light. Vague scents were off to the west, scents of a pack. A wretched scowl split across her maw, teeth baring at the though of the weak-willed cowering behind borders, behind shallow statuses and imaginary protection.

Disgusting vermin. Noire would rid them, just as she had for the blackened corpse at her side.

@Revui