Moonspear i was born in this ga[m]e, and i will die in this game

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: just some gory daydreaming stuff o:)

 
Hydra agreed with all of her points. It would be lovely to do to her what she had done to their own. Of course, the wolf unworthy of even a name would not live to see any companion she might be with die of infection. She would die for touching a hair upon her childs head. The matriarch looked to the horizon, considering what the woman must feel like now. 

Safe, Hydra hoped. Secure. A flash of her son, brought to her in agony—

For as long as Hydra lived, and as long as that malcontent breathed, such would never be so. One day, the wretch would look to her left—or perhaps her right—and see that the length of her shadow had grown. Except that her shadow now had teeth, teeth that were unforgiving, teeth that would not stop until the cadence of that bitches breathing did—

Old anger became hot and new again as she remembered her son that way, that day, and the look that passed over her features revealed only but a sliver of rage still bridled. 

Opalia wanted to learn more, as surely as Hydra did—it was her brother who had died. Hydra breathed in, the storm passing in her eyes. We will find them, she said knowingly, stepping nearer to Opalia. Wolves of that sort... they cannot hide for long, the more trouble they sow. And they will reap it, came her dark words, we will be sure of it. And we have all the time to do so. Their time, she hummed, is running out.

Indeed—the clock would stop for the wretch who harmed her son. One arm splayed to ten, the other to two, the secondhand sputtering on four while those she wronged freed her of the limb that she would never need again, where she was going (halfdead already, no fight left in her, just as her son had looked!)—for that miserable things violent delight, they would all see to its equally violent end.