Aithne
I can feel the flames on my skin
Aithne grins at the thought of, as the stranger said, 'going ham.' "Sure," she says, all mischief and mayhem, and with a moment's thought, she shifts. As a fyrhund, she is hell incarnate, all cracked-stone pelt and bleeding lava. With glowing eyes, she offers a canine grin to the woman, then bounds towards their now-shared prey. The viper falls to the ground, flailing as electricity wracks its body, and Aithne waits patiently until the last of the lightning flickers out.
Then, she strikes.
Lunging forward, she goes straight for the beast's throat, her teeth bared and glistening. As she makes contact, she feels a surge of glee. She might not intend to eat the void creature - who knows what it would do to her to do so - but she can certainly delight in the killing of it, in feeling the life flee its body and its blood spill over the ground. It's a certain kind of high, better than any drug she's found, and she feels herself nearing it as she attempts to rip out the creature's throat.
Then, she strikes.
Lunging forward, she goes straight for the beast's throat, her teeth bared and glistening. As she makes contact, she feels a surge of glee. She might not intend to eat the void creature - who knows what it would do to her to do so - but she can certainly delight in the killing of it, in feeling the life flee its body and its blood spill over the ground. It's a certain kind of high, better than any drug she's found, and she feels herself nearing it as she attempts to rip out the creature's throat.
Crimson-red paint on my lips
