Air whistles sharply through the pines lifting snow heavy boughs that drape across a trickling stream. The crunch of breaking snow crust reverberates as a solitary button buck cautiously steps out from the wood. Testing the wind for predator scents the young stag scans the clearing then relaxes to paw at a rocky mass searching for remnants of edible lichen. The snow sparkles in the bright sunlight, water gurgles in the little stream, but the rest of the forest seems to be holding its breath. The stag’s dainty head raises in alert as he releases a cough snorting noise. His slender frame holds stalk still while he listens carefully. A final snort sends out a plume of white breath signaling his decision that there is nothing to fear. He resumes searching for an edible morsel.

Pine boughs crash apart, a scream erupts from a maw of death, the deer freezes in shock and is taken down by claw and fang. Crimson blood spatters across the bone white snow. The kill is quick. The deer’s eyes lose their light as he kicks reflexively and gasps for air he no longer requires. The predator is pleased with this kill, his flesh is tender and there is no taste of fear in the blood. She hates that taste. She slices his scent glands out with a claw then opens his stomach spilling entrails and organs to lighten the load for the trek back. Licking fanged chops she begins dragging the carcass back to her lair. Haste must be made before the smell of blood draws other predators.

The large beast crests a hill dragging its limp prey as the sun lingers spreading gasps of eerie twilight across the horizon. An enormous oak barren of leaves looms over a small cabin nestled into the mountainside. The cabin is fenced by a tall barricade topped with a variety of predator skulls. The mighty oak should not grow here, the wind is too fierce and one would think its roots would have hit rock a millennia ago. Still, here it stands a monument to tenacity refusing to be stunted by harsh wind, its coiling roots breaking the bedrock under it.

Krish Razhett leaps into the ancient oak draping the carcass over a low branch. The button buck is small, so the effort is negligible. Landing noiselessly at the trunk of the aged forest matron Krish shifts. The golden shimmer of magic changing animal hide and form to a human vissage. Cold instantly bites her skin where the needle teeth of winter snap, a sharp gasp escapes her lips. She uses snow to clean blood from her face and hands then leaps over the barricade. Absence of several days means the cabin is cold and its only comfort is lack of freezing wind. Donning wool socks and wool underclothing she then dons a brown snowsuit. Strapping on a tool belt and heavy boots she heads back out to the tree. Kneeling before the massive oak she mumbles an ancient prayer in a tongue whose meaning she feels more than remembers. Scaling back up the tree Krish’s claws extend from human fingers to give her grip, she is careful not to pry beneath the ancient bark. Placing steel hooks under the tendons of each hind limb she drops the deer so it is suspended. She leaps down and begins the task of stripping the hide and quartering the carcass. Her stomach grumbles at the smell of flesh and blood. Howls of distant coyotes echo just as she slings the last piece over her shoulder to hang in the shed. “Coyotes I can handle.” She rasps in a voice that has only spoken to itself in the last year. Running a hand through her thick dark golden hair, fingers catch in frozen blood. She hums softly to herself sauntering back into the cabin.

Once the fire is crackling and a pot of water is warmed over it Krish strips down. Scars of past battles lattice her body. Some feint and aged, others too deep to ever disappear, none recent. One of the deer’s haunches lies on a small table. Her pale olive tinted skin glows as she dips a rag into the water and cleans herself. Water splashes off her and onto the floor, hissing where it hits hot stone sending up tendrils of vapor. Washing the blood out of her hair carefully, she then picks it loose with a comb carved from bone. It’s getting harder to find prey close. This time of year everything has migrated to the warmer valley. "May have to talk to those wolf mutts, see if they’ll allow a bit of hunting just for winter. Goddess, I hate the way those mongrels smell.” she thinks.

Clean up done, Krish rolls a thick sheepskin bed roll topped with a bear hide in front of the fire, sets down a small growler, then stretches out lazily to bask in the warmth of the flames. 

She pulls the deer haunch down and begins carving into it, eating slivers of the raw meat. “Fire and blood that tastes good.” she sighs. Taking a hard pull from the growler she feels the warm burn of the clear liquid as it flows down her throat and spreads through her body. “Give those Wolf dogs that much, they know how to run a still.” Head laid back, lids flutter closed, she drifts into a peaceful slumber. 

Thieves in the night

Krish startles awake at a soft scuffling sound. Flipping over golden light crackle across her skin as she shifts quietly. She hears something padding. No, two somethings padding around the cabin. Then the acrid smell hits her, rogue wolves. “Why can’t those Pups keep their dregs under control?” Waiting for them to pass by again she crawls to the door then paws the latch, slipping into the fridged night air. Slinking into the shadows she sizes up the intruders. One is a large dark Grey Male with a missing ear, the other is a lighter brown male only slightly smaller, they are both half shifted in werewolf form standing on hind limbs. Scraggley fur and an oddly rotted essence eminates from the pair. A lingering copper smell of human blood is on them as well. Her vision starts to turn red. If they are killing humans in her territory they are endangering her. The grey is large, but Krish out weighs both rogues. She is better fed and her mind isn't muddled by the mnetal illness that besets rouges. 

The werewolves halt at the larder shed sniffing it. The big one crashes against the shed door. She leaps silently onto the smaller one's back snapping his neck instantly. The larger wolf turns and sees her crouching over his fallen companion’s corpse. He charges her. She springs deftly out of his way and he skids into the barricade rocking its posts. Krish lets out a low growl and stalks around him in a wide arc. He charges her again and she springs up onto the shed roof snarling down at him. “Stupid mongrel” she thinks. He growls at her baring fangs clotted with decaying flesh and running with viscous drool. Her claws tear into the thatched roof and she launches into him. He rakes her sides as her weight pushes him onto his back. He claws at her throat, but her thick loose fur makes it difficult for him to find purchase. Ripping his belly open with her hind legs intestines spill out as she clamps down on his neck waiting for his pulse to stop. 

Shaking as much blood off as she can she pads back into the cabin shutting the door with her hip. Krish begins to lick her wounds and remove the stinking werewolf blood. “For fuck's sake, do those nasty creatures ever bathe?” she wonders. Shifting back into human form Krish picks up the growler and swishes the burning liquid in her mouth spitting it into the fire causing flames to lunge out. She chuckles then dabs her wounds with the liquid. The big wolf was strong, that will leave a mark. But the gash is already closing. She smiles to herself and settles back into a deep sleep.