They waited as the moon rose higher in the sky and still no Roth returned. Ragnarok grew impatient. Had she disobeyed him again? The Warg-wench was probably gorging on some tasty morsel while he and the others froze upon the exposed crest of the hill. Despite his suspicions, he had heard nothing. He was sure that had she been able to make a kill some sound would have reached him. He leaned his head from one side to another slowly, listening intently to the night. Nothing but his own empty stomach.
He decided to follow her. There had been no snow to cover her tracks and her scent was still strong. He let out one low, barely audible bark to Nimue in the absence of Roth he was forced to make use of her. She was unwilling to leave the pups and come to the fore. One of the wolves looked at the sickly creatures and licked a slow tongue along its upper lip. Nimue glared down upon the smaller animal but still was forced to leave the young with them if they hoped to gather any food that night.
Ragnarok led them over the precipitous edge and down into the trees, following Roth's tracks, footstep for footstep. The others glided behind him. Some of the path they took was too steep to walk so they slid in silence instead. Steadily they progressed toward the strange scent and the plume of smoke that Ragnarok had spied earlier. As yet he sensed no danger.
They disturbed no living thing amongst the trees for the night was still and nothing stirred. Even the incessant wind began to abate. He leapt onto the trunk of a long fallen tree and took stock of his surroundings. There was a low glow of light ahead. The pack soon joined him, lined up along the log like some bizarre ornament: silent, cold and still.
He would go no further yet. His keen eyes made out much. He saw a cart or wagon. He saw the horse; asleep upon his feet. He saw the small fire that he knew was meant to frighten him. His jaw curled into a grin.
The pups squeaked in the snow below him, lacking the strength to reach his vantage point. He alowed himself a low snarl to silence them. A single bound and he was over their heads and into the soft snow that had drifted against the woodland edge. His mouth filled with saliva as he began his approach. The pack fell into their places as instinct directed them.
He halted. A sudden sound had distracted him. He turned his head toward the left of the camp. His eyes burned at what he beheld. A lone creature, man-like in shape but shorter. Perhaps a man-pup: he didn't care. It was a female. It walked with caution and peered into the roots of trees. Perhaps it hunted food? Ragnarok glanced back toward the camp. Her scent was the same. Why make life difficult? The others had already spotted her too and gathered about his shoulder waiting for his signal. She was unguarded, she was small, she didn't stand a chance.
Ragnarok gave the signal. The pack serged forward. She was over come in seconds. Her screams echoed throughout the wood. Claws and teeth tore at her. The snow was quickly stained a dark and frightening shade. The screams were silenced. Hunger drove them to begin to devour her there. In the frenzy only a single arm was visible between the shoving bodies of two wolves. In her tiny pale hand she clasped a single snowbell flower.
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Auriel
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