@bexwulf asked for violence.
Blood fills her mouth as teeth sink viciously into a throat well deserving of such retaliation (of fates far worse than her impatience was willing to allow,) flesh ripping from bone and digits wrapping tightly round the dagger at her captor’s side.
They thought they could subdue her, that taking weapons and armor so willingly offered would no longer make her a threat. A mistake they would not live long to regret. Yet it made it all the easier for the she wolf to infiltrate their hold, to feign helplessness and allow herself to be taken prisoner, the eyes of men so easily clouded by pride beneficial for one so well seasoned in deception.
So she’d waited, patiently bidding her time until they slipped, until they dropped their guard long enough to be advantageous. Feigned tears, seemingly genuine pleas of mercy luring her captors into a false sense of security, of power, for what could a mere woman do in the eyes of those who destroyed for sport. Who took without provocation. Hearts and minds so consumed by the fear of what they did not understand they did not see the death they’d welcomed into their home.
In one swift motion she unsheathes silver from it’s leather holster, its sting upon bare flesh ignored in favor of what was to come next. They would pay for what they’d done– and as she drives the blade through the heart of another man in her path, she chokes out a laugh. Madness fueled by unbearable grief.
