Snowforest Taiga broken boy

I couldn't resist!

KLAAAK!!
The dull snap of a breaking neck, followed by one last strangled whimper. Aspa slinked from the thicket, her prize clutched between her jaws—the reeking woman in all her wretched splendor. Another head for her collection.

Græd ikke, lille mand! she murmured, dropping the creature’s ravaged remains at his feet—keeping only its severed head, which she cradled with almost reverent care. She descended the hillside in an unhurried lope, her gaze fixed on the frail young man below.

Eat, she commanded, nudging the limp carcass toward him with the tip of her paw.

Du er kun skind og ben. Spis. He was no warrior, that much was certain. But Aspa—and the gods she served—had a fondness for lost souls with no future.