Silvertip Mountain the songs are all the same

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the sounds of the forest, dimmed in her own ears by the whispers she'd made companions of, in that moment seemed to asperas a silent tune to which her father danced. she watched wordlessly as movement took him, jerked him away and further until a shriek pierced through her glass threads and shattered them to nothingness. asperas was left with raw ringing silence, — true silence, not the facade of the unfocused mind — and the horror of bare-faced reality.
the rabbit's terror was her own, for a few seconds that felt full of eternity.
this was the bear-god's curse.
she snapped forward and caught skin. as easily as it tore away from the flesh, each moment of the creature's torment was like rending her own muscle from the bone. agony. the rabbit kicked and caught her chest with dirty jagged little nails, leaving tiny lacerations asperas scarcely felt. she pinned it with a paw, teeth finding the spaces round one panic-blown eye with force enough to rupture and snap and tear until she came away and left a gored gaping void. trembling little jaw next, torn asunder so each breath spurted crimson.
asperas suffered, and the rabbit died. and as it began to shudder through its death throes, her teeth finally found its throat and made an end to the carnage of her mind and its body.
but it did not end. not for asperas.