And the wolves began to feast. Upon her, they sprang, the largest ones first. Jaws filled with uncanny strength, and countless teeth like jagged razors, snapped down on her once flawless skin. But flawless it could be called no longer, with how they pitted and gouged and marked and ripped.
Eirika's pained, terrified, agonized screams rang through the forest, an eerie, haunting noise which warned away other travelers, or at least such travelers as could be found on the choked, narrow, winding paths which straggled through that dense, dark, damnable wood. She shrieked, the feel of these creatures' fangs piercing her skin aggrieving her with all the excruciating torment of a cat-o-nine-tails.
Her screams continued longer than most would have. The beasts, cunning and hateful, did all in their power to prolong their prey's torment. They ripped away strips and chunks of flesh from her back and arms and shoulders and legs, but they refrained for as long as possible from dealing any mortal wounds, from ending her misery.
These were creatures of a hateful intelligence, a brooding, bestial malice which desired only suffering for all other things. No higher aim had these vile, brutish beasts than that -- it was not to nourish themselves that they devoured man and woman and child. They inflicted suffering wherever, however they could.
And Eirika's death was no exception.
The world would never know just what it had lost. Not until it was far too late.
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