-A Huntress’s Plight-

The rhythmic thumping of soft leather boots hung in the freezing, ghoulish air. Akin to her heart, It was frigid and steady. This hunt would be like the last, and the one before. Howls, like twisted wails, rang out around the homes nestled among cobblestones. As if seeming to mock the one leading the most recent attacks on their pack. Without being a beast in body nature was spared her sword-arm, As she was studying this next town in search of quarry.

Her footsteps were the only population in a seemingly decimated village, Her breath the sole warmth. Finding the splintered remains of what looked to be someone’s home, She attempted to make camp. Seeing no end to planks and timber of all sizes, Finding some kindling was paramount. Searching the fallen remnants yielded shredded clothing, some of which was…still occupied.

She simply set the arm bones back near where she had disturbed them in the rubble, noting several bore the distinct evidence of either fang or claw. Mouthing a small apology, She returned to the makeshift campfire. Attacks had been increasing all the time, but the damage here was almost impressive, She pondered. An entire village this time. Usually a small outbreak here or there, But losing an entire population was unheard of.

As she trailed in thought, she cleared a place to rest near her newborn flames. After clearing away the debris, she found that a picture seemed to have survived the disaster, although torn and tattered. In the faded, blurry ink is a small family, featuring a young, beautiful mother and three rowdy children with hearty laughter painted on their faces.

The little girl seems to be dwarfed by her two brothers. The expressions they wore were so joyful, that the huntress could hardly remember what it was like to laugh like that. The deafening silence was broken finally, as the fire started to crackle to life and burn warm enough to be comfortable. An unwelcome gust of wind snatched the picture away from the huntress, into the growing embers. And quick as a flash, was consumed by the fire. The quickness of it being taken sobered her thoughts, reminding her just how swiftly things have always been taken from her.

Unloading her rough leather pack to the ground, Dinner was retrieved from it first. Hungry as a beast, she was. Dried, Salted hunks of flesh were unbound from canvaswrap, While she set her iron breadpan she had prepared the day before near the heart of the flames. Sweetbread was one of the only things she looked forward to anymore, But trying to find clean water was usually quite difficult. Her luck the day before was extraordinary, however, with some mostly healthy crop from a desolate farm, and a water well untouched by the sickness.

Fire crackling and food cooking is enough to draw anyone hungry or…anything nearby. Especially when the only scent around reminded her of the mass beast graves before she made it to this village. The sweet smell of sugar and spices she had brought along for the journey, started to dance around her small festival of life, amongst the visitors of the slain. Ripping a chunk away from some meat, she opens the pack again, retrieving the weapon that's been vital for the end of a hunt.

An elongated flintlock pistol with a powder, that a now dead man trusted her to pass along the recipe to anyone that would listen. Bullets that had been both blessed, but cursed with both her disease-resistant blood and poisons blended, which is fatal for her quarry. A bedridden experiment screamed that “certain flowers burn me so, so much like a scorching snow” they would wail. Both out of their mind and misery now, thanks to the huntress. Projectiles were just usually smelted utensils she scavenged.

The huntress was still allowing herself to drift away in thoughts, when suddenly an explosion of fang and claw burst through a nearby side of the ruins she was resting near. The very burst through the wall had cut her face pretty badly, but nothing that wouldn't heal if she lived she thought. She thanks her mother for being able to see her target, and the creature seems to recoil at her words. Her sword was much closer to the creature than her, but she did still have her pistol, And it always had one. She was ready for this battle of fire and fang.

The scuffle seemed to last for hours, but in reality, this was simply the most stubborn creature she had fought yet. Almost seeming to keep its distance, trying to circle her and get behind her. And that when it happened, From her flank, A second creature had taken advantage of the huntress’s inattention, She was now the prey. Her eyes immediately cloud over due to trauma and injury due to the head strike she received, but she comes to due to the awful, horrid sounds of them…gurgling or giggling? They’re laughing?

They had never made noises like that before. Snarls, Growls, Shrieks, Screams, and Savagery are the only languages they speak. At least, They used to. These two, are practically howling with laughter. Predators as smart as them seemed impossible, they were simply beasts, after all. The screeches of mangled howls and chirps continued. Her eyes… They wouldn’t stay open. Heavily wounded, Instincts flash, Muscle memory activates, and suddenly one isn’t laughing anymore. The second one yelps in fear and retreats a few steps, squealing, and snarling. She had pinned the closest to the wall through the head with her sword, which she had retrieved while on the floor.

Drawing the pistol straight to the other's head, She strikes it in the face, then fires. Pain. More pain than she's ever felt possible. Her vision fades in and out. Exhuastion takes her. The flames spilled nearby causing her to reawake in alarm. Fogged and injured, she sits near the fire, hoping to melt enough for another round. She reaches for her sword, her breath catches, and finds she cannot feel where she left it, Nor the corpses of the wolf creatures. A timid voice quietly rings out over the silence. “Are they gone? Are you dead?”

Not being able to see well, the huntress calls out to the voice. “I’ve slain two beasts now here, One large, one smaller. I hope that’s it… Where are you?” Silence follows her answer. “Come now, Don’t be that way, I could use someone to help me find my way for a bit!” Silence, again. “I have some sweetbread!” She shrieks. Blinking rapidly, Her frigid, steady heart, begins to sink. A smaller, almost identical voice, “Are they gone? Are you dead?” Followed by scurrying and grunting, By the time she understood what exactly was speaking back to her, the smell of burned sweetbread and blood, was the last evidence of the hunt.