Horizon Ridge iii: something wicked (m)

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Death and gore!

Evening. The great endless shadow that was the sky disfigured much. The tree-tops gave a shudder as a final gust of wind brought to them rain which carried scattered, stolen light.

The dim shape of the solitary beast all but lost among the mess of it. Bristling hair turned silver where it silhouetted; before her prowled a wayward creature intent on watching her, on following. She let it come close — choosing to slow her gait and become something addled in appearance, so that the night thief would feel safe.

It drew closer, lulled there by curiosity, by hunger. The beast looked drab: mud caked her legs and belly, a streak of copper blood had dried some time to her cheek and matted her chest, and she made herself keep a limp to further her luring efforts.

The coyote, or the dog, or whatever it was that trailed her now, drew a bit too close.

She made to swipe the thing with one broad palm. She took hold of the throat and as she tightened the grip, pressed the claw of her thumb against the middle bone, gouged the neck with the rest. There was a hiccuping noise. Then the bear lifted up, up, up, and up came the thing; a twist of the wrist forced it's head to the left. Snap. Dead.

No need to think long upon it. The body slumped to the earth and was pushed away. A great gulf existed between her and this poor sad dead hound who now lay in the dirt behind a stump, staring up at the open sky, eyes carrying an early frost. All of these beings were for killing when it was wanted — what else?

When found, the body of the thing would look thin and smeared. Great gouts of blood darkened the greenery to purple-black. Ribbons of innards lined the yawning pathway made by her own body while compressions in the dirt were full of red mud, the size and width of her mighty paws.

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