As promised, I have posted the revised edition of my original piece 'First Kill [Rough Draft]'. (post275981.html#275981)
But when reviewing, please be aware that this is but an excerpt from my story. More of her character and the reason for Ayra's actions are revealed in previous Chapters. Just so's ya knows.
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This was not the Ayra he knew. She was different now; fangs bared, dripping ebrethil, eyes flashing with a passionate fury. Each night-black hair on her pelt seemed charged with static force. A menacing snarl ripped from her powerful jaws.
He swayed against the waves of pure untamed malice that emanated from her.
On either side of him, cliffs of sheer ice shredded the sky like streaks of ivory flame.
The wing beats of Lost souls sounded from higher up, and he fancied for a second that they would take him away. But they soon passed over the ridge, and with them went his hope.
The man's terror scent maddened her; each frantic beat of his heart seemed to mocking for her every second she delayed in taking his life. The high singing of his blood through his veins filled her with a fierce ache and she snarled again; a deep thunder that shook the ice.
He backed up as she advanced with purposeful slowness, a shadow in stark contrast to the blinding white snow. She adjusted her pace to a brisk trot and his face contorted in terror. He took a step back - but there was nothing behind him but air; empty, unyielding to his frantic grasp.
It was only a small ravine that he had fallen down, she noticed with grim contempt. And yet the air had been knocked out of his lungs and he lay gasping on the rocks like a fish out of water. He tried to take another breath but the wind snatched it away with an echo of screaming laughter.
The sight of him, sprawled spread-eagled on the snow, enraged her. He was so weak, so vulnerable. Her paws itched to carry her down to him...I haven't hunted in so long... the thought sounded odd to her, as if she was hearing it from someone else. Doubt flickered into being like a candle flame in her mind. Why don't I just return to Miokoda form? For a moment she was tempted to leave him be, to return to the cabin and eat there. But once again the blood lust gripped her in invisible claws and held her fast.
His back felt strangely hollow, almost numb except for a small radius of pain near his shoulder. He wanted to cry out, but could not.
Snow crystals melted into his eyes, blurring his vision, but through the glinting rivulets he saw--
Ayra.
She jumped down from the rocky incline with flowing grace, muscles rippling under a windswept pelt. Silent paw steps sent a ripple of unspoken fears through the air as she advanced. Panic overwhelmed him and he stirred feebly, struggling to rise. But something in his back was out of place; a bone, grinding painfully against the rest.
He couldn't move.
She could smell his fear. It hung thick and heavy in the air; tantalizing, delicious. Her eyes were dead-set focused on his limp, fur-clad body. He made a vain attempt to rise again and she laughed. It echoed eerily in the vast space; bitter and harsh, yet full of arrogance and pride. It made him cringe, for upon hearing it, he knew that she would show no mercy.
His life flashed before his eyes in heart-breaking glimpses. Sobs racked his frail body. His wife, his children; would he ever see them again?
No.
She leapt with surprising speed, a brutal anger etched into every movement, every economic ripple of muscle. She landed square on his chest.
Never had she felt anything as delicate as his slender ribs, never anything as desperate as the beating of his heart. And suddenly she was filled with an urge to feel the splintering crunch of bones under her teeth, the elastic snapping of tendons beneath her needle-filed claws.
She couldn't wait any longer.
Pain exploded in his shoulder and shot through his veins like wildfire, burning like poison. A soundless scream racked his bones with spasms of agony, but it never made it to his lips.
The pain was all encompassing, consuming his thoughts, his life. He opened tear-blurred eyes and saw his killer's, inches from his face. But hers weren't blurry. They were vivid with feral lust.
Her vision misted red as the blood-urge coursed through her. She knew the joy, the sheer rapture, that all predators must feel, and she exulted in it. Soon she would satisfy the gnawing pit of hunger in her belly.
But even as her teeth wreaked havoc in his arm, the old doubt crept into her mind. Half-forgotten memories swam blearily in her minds eye; Quitluk and his wife, telling her the folklore of their people, Quitluk returning from the hunt, his weathered brown face crinkled in a smile, and then the blank shock as she rounded on him, enraged at the sight of blood dripping from his forearm...the blood. That memory overcame the others, and once again she was lost in blood lust.
She shook him back and forth as if he weighed no more than a feather, and her teeth tore through his shoulder to his neck. Finding the jugular vein, she clamped down hard with an iron strength.
He felt the dying beats of his heart through a fog of indifference. There was heat around him, but within he was locked in ice.
It was all futile--what was the point of living, when lives could be snuffed out like candles? What was the point of loving, when lovers flit like butterflies from this world to the next?
With dreadful finality, Ayra's teeth came down hard. His life rushed onto the snow.
* * *
Ayra paced restlessly, trying to fight back the horrible guilt that raked her heart like claws. That man had a family, a life...and she had taken it all away. She remembered with bitter pride how she had wrenched his soul from his body, how it had been shredded in her teeth.
But then the guilt came rushing back in a wave, no, a tSunami of terrible, unstoppable force. She howled, a stricken lament so passionate it seemed the very stars would weep.
But they did not, and only twinkled coldly down at her, cruel and silent.
And she was alone, with only the screaming wind to keep her alive.
What have I done?
Nice work!
