Bearclaw Valley [M] they breathe you in, and dive as deep as they can

blood.

she wanted blood;

tasted it; reveled in it. 

scarlet dripped down her exposed cheeks. her merrick somewhere behind, watching. 

did he see all this?
did he see the lengths she would not stop, could not stop, to keep him as hers’ alone? would he know he had driven her to this relentless hateful violent delightful madness? would he appreciate all that she did and continued to do to secure her place in his infidel heart?

astara’s teeth set deep to merrick’s (assumed) lover. the children were all but a blur in her periphery as astara’s lunatic eyes widened first with pained shock and then cruel triumph;

her teeth, held around Ikkalrok’s pulsing throat —

one second alive —

a terrific snarl rent the murkwood as merrick’s gibbering rook tore the throat from Ikkalrok’s blackened pelt. astara’s eyes closed as a sickening crunch sounded, followed by the heavy splatter of carotid blood dampening the glistening black of her fur. 

meanwhile, a cerise bouquet of unsettling red bloomed around astara’s feet. 

no remorse; no second guessing. just the unraveled, unshakable certainty of a rook who would do anything to stake her eternal claim over merrick.