Silvertip Mountain i have made the universe the way i wanted to

his voice was the first hope that sorcha had experienced in a long while. she nodded helplessly and shut her eyes tightly. 
the scent of blood was the first thing that roused her. hope became delight became desperation; she paws weakly for it, and if she managed to grab it away, sorcha fell to gorging herself with strained little cries.
but her stomach too was ill, and almost as soon as she had swallowed the last bite, she was immediately sick in the short grass at her feet.