“Kill her.” Winter snapped at Night. “We don’t need her scum contaminating the camp.”
He nodded warily, glancing at the whimpering pile of fur tied down to the stone cottage floor. Winter stalked away, her dark red hair trailing behind her. Night knelt down beside the young wolf girl below him. Her blue eyes looked up at him, pleading. “Don’t…” she gasped, her blood already dotting her vision.
Night looked at his hands. They were human, mostly. His fingers were long and thin, the fingernails sharpened to a vicious point. One swipe and she’d be dead. Damn conscience, he thought. Her eyes were welled with tears and blood- her blood. “What’s your name?” he growled nervously, the hair on the back of his neck sticking on end.
“I am Emerald, ranked warrior of the Willow Ravine Pack,” she whispered, attempting to keep her tone calm.
"How old?” Night was sitting beside her now.
“t-Twelve moons.” She told him.
He shook his head. She was young. “I’m sorry Emerald. You were a good wolf.” Her eyes widened.
“No, please, no!” she writhed in her restraints, desperately trying to escape. Night turned his head away as he unsheathed his claws and dug them into Emerald’s neck. She let out a final cry of terror, and then her body became still. Night looked hungrily at the blood pooling onto the floor. Her cries of horror echoed through his head, and he flinched back in disgust before running to his den.
Winter sat in her den, listening closely. She smiled with satisfaction when she heard the screams coming from the chamber. Laughing to herself as Night ran past her, blood on his claws, she licked her lips and stalked towards the death room.
