Blackfeather Woods send help

the scene astara witnessed might have been bemusing, if she was one prone to bloodsports. she was — but not without merrick. he would have liked this; astara longed to be reunited with him immediately.

it appeared her presence was not noted. now was her chance to take what was rightfully hers and leave — but a morbid curiosity in how this little spat would play out rooted her to the spot. presently, it seemed the woman’s defenses were halfhearted — futile — and the little demon that sped towards her tail appeared positively hellbent on savagery.

with nothing else to do, and a long road ahead of her, astara sat primly in the snow and watched with a callously bent half-smile; the pelvis still hanging grotesquely from her jaws. 

if she was lucky, there would be only one survivor. which meant for someone like her, with no demonstrable qualms of cannibalism, that there was a possibility of a warm meal ahead of her.