Wapun Meadow dripping in rot

perhaps @Blackfell ?

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the wind carried his scent long before she saw him. the putrid smell rot and sour sweat, still metallic with his blood. hard to miss, easy to track. her paws were light against the forest floor, her breath measured. quiet. the world around her bled away—no sound, no thought, no feeling. only an urge, dark and violent.

she crept along his blindside, hunched low into the brush. mercy had no place here. not with stark. not with the man who had dared to spit in her face, in their faces. threatened her spirit sister as if it meant nothing. sun eater's command was more than following orders. no mere duty. he had brought this upon himself, and she would be his reckoning.

each step he took was an effort, fighting against exhaustion. he was a ruin of himself, hollowed out by starvation, infection, and an unworldly sense of pride that would be his greatest folly. a dead man walking, gjalla thought grimly, her teeth bared in a silent snarl. she could kill him now—end it swiftly, silently—but that wasn’t what she wanted. stark deserved to know his fate. to see it, feel it.

he stumbled, catching himself against the rough bark of a tree, and her breath hitched. the movement was pathetic, pitiful, undeniably satisfying. he was fragile. vulnerable. but then, stark paused. his head lifted, body stiffening. he knew.

gjalla felt anticipation coil in her stomach. good. let him know. if he wanted to turn and fight, she would oblige, and she would tear his throat from his body. if he wanted to run, she would chase him to the very end. it wouldn't matter. this ended here.

there would be no mercy. stark had squandered his last chance the moment sun eater let him go. gjalla would not make the same mistake. she would not hesitate.