Hideaway Strath A Test Of Faith.

There was no hope left.

Barreled onto her back with paws in the air, though there had been a screech to stop and an exclamation off to her side, there were wolves attached to her chest and legs and face as the echoing of her screaming began to be the noise that pierced the air the loudest. Sasha’s fangs against her skull had been rammed against an eye, bursting it in an explosion of red and liquid as the organ collapsed and sank and stickied itself against slick fur. At her midsection, Nyra’s teeth were gouging at the spaces betwixt her ribs to meet soft ropey muscle that was exposing itself to the air in shades of pink and crimson, the same color by the split in Aya’s foreleg at Donatien’s fangs. That leg now, like the other, was bone and gristle protruding and oozing fluid, her heart pounding against Nyra’s aggressive mauling, calls growing silent as the savage Sasha began to crack her skull beneath her biting.

Dorus watches, a stiffness growing between he legs as his panting grows rough and rowdy in clear excitement for the act before him… it’s too much. He can’t not interfere. Spitting violently to the side to clear himself of fluid, the no-eared bastard grabs onto the tip of Aya’s tail to keep himself clear of the Saints (lest they somehow get any drop of sickness upon them!) and with the strangers proclamation falling upon deaf ears he begins to tug. Clumps of fur off of the wailing childs fur fly into the air as he proceeds to break her tail into pieces, swinging his head too and fro, bending the ligaments in ways they cannot bend. 

It’s clear that Aya is breathing her final breaths. Shock had caused her to spasm a few times, but now that hole in her chest and the puncturing of her lungs was leaking so heavily that it was clear something vital had been bitten through. Dazed, confused, and with the earth beneath her becoming warm and wet from blood-loss her voice comes only as a dying whisper below all of the carnage surrounding them;

“W… wh… y…” Bubbled through blood and foam as she begins to grow cold and limp, “I… I never… di… d… anything… wrong…”

Light is lost to her one-eyed gaze like the snuffing of a candle against the coarse roar of the wind… and Aya, the stranger with the broken paw, becomes nothing more than a corpse below the myriad of fangs grinding against her.