Lupus Messorem

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Now, as their rage slowly simmered, the heathens were jovial as they strolled through the fields, indulging in their handy work. Those unlucky enough to still be alive were quickly pulled from the field and were dragged up the grassy hill that overlooked the once beautiful meadow.
There, standing tall, was a strong oak with sweeping branches. It's once untouched limbs now hanging with ropes as they strung their last few alive victims by their throats. Holes had been carved through their necks with rope being shoved through, like the threading of a needle, before hanging them like ornaments on the trees vast branches that swept out over the hill.
A spectacle of terror to scare their future conquests into a quick surrender lest they themselves be subjected to their brutal acts of violence and persuasion.
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Agony rang through the child like a poisoned knife and as the child watched each wolf fall something snapped inside, like a taught guitar string finally snapping under pressure. Silver eyes gave way to the red that ebbed away their warm grey till they glowed redder than the blood still seeping into the ground throughout the fields.

And thus, the reaper of wolves was born.
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Original production by Red Rogue.
All characters, places and events are works of fiction. Any similarities to real life events and people are purely coincidental.