She was walking to the store that day. We'd watched as her mother handed her the money and list just a while earlier. We'd stalked her. We watched her striding down the street, head held high, clutching her large fluffy coat closer to stop from shivering. She was a normal girl. She looked happy, even. Like she had a perfect life.
Until the wolves attacked.
We didn't care. We were hungry. We were desperate. Our wolf minds didn't think this wrong in any way - we needed food, and we'd found something edible, something warm and delicious.
It suddenly occurred to me I was high enough in the pack that I could have stopped them. I didn't want to.
I watched them rip through her coat, her jeans, her pretty little pink blouse. I didn't stop them.
I watched them rip her skin. I didn't stop them.
I watched them lick up the blood running from her cuts. I watched them prepare to devour her. Still, I didn't stop them.
Then her eyes opened. Her eyes were beautiful - green like emeralds shimmering against the background of pure white snow around her. She stared into my eyes, unblinking. She looked peaceful.
And that's when I stopped them.
