Blackfoot Forest bones

Clarice was a deranged lunatic. Were she stable, she would have never left, and perhaps could have taken over in Jinx's stead and enabled Bon Dye to thrive. But she had been called, and so too had her father; they had went on His sacred mission, and completed it. They were Blessed followers; they had done so much! He had even possessed her and spoke to her; it was a rarity to hear him, a true, true gift.
xxxxxxClarice licked her chops. Hawkeye. No, she did not remember her; her relevance was little to Clarice, and her life meant nothing to the fiendish girl. When she spoke of mountains, Clarice grimaced; along the way, she had met a mountainous pack of strong wolves that did not approve of her proximity to their lands. She would have cursed them, had she the time, but there were far more important things. This, for example...
xxxxxxHellhound, she spat, revolted, They will know of the hounds that place harbors! Clarice's voice has lifted, thin but firm in its conviction, unwavering in its promise—she takes a step closer now, her eyes looking to the injuries, knowing what she must find, not wanting infection to hit. She took Bon Dye, its wolves; Atka would frown, she muses, laughing strangely that even the kindest of Gods would not look kindly upon Hawkeye. Surely Sos had some cruel plans! She could not know, of course, that Hawkeye worshiped Him even still.