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.

The 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. Blood spatters across the snow, the kill is quick. The deer’s eyes lose their light as he kicks reflexively and gasps for air he no longer requires. She is pleased with this kill, his flesh is tender and there is no taste of fear in his blood. She hates that taste. Slicing his scent glands out with a claw then opening his stomach spilling entrails and organs to lighten the load for the trek back. Licking her chops she begins dragging the carcass back to her lair, knowing she must hurry 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 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 stubbornly refusing to be stunted by harsh wind, its coiling roots breaking the bedrock under it.

Krish Razhett bunches up then 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 then shifts back into her human visage. Cold instantly bites her skin where snow touches, 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 hops into a brown snowsuit. Strapping on a tool belt and heavy boots she heads back out to the tree. She kneels before the massive oak and mumbles an ancient prayer in a tongue whose meaning she feels more than remembers. Scaling back up the tree Krish’s claws extend to give her grip, she is careful not to pry beneath the ancient bark. Placing 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. Then runs a hand through her thick dark golden hair realizing blood is frozen into it. She hums softly to herself sauntering back into the cabin.

Once the fire is crackling and a pot of water is warmed over it she 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 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 off into a peaceful sleep. 

Thieves in the night

Krish startles awake to a soft scuffling sound. Flipping over she shifts and stalks slowly to the door. 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 paws the latch to her door and slips out, slinking into the shadow of her barricade to size 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. Still, she outweighs them. 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 two werewolves halt at the shed and examine it. The big one crashes through 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 his fangs, her claws tear into the thatched roof as 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 then begins to lick her wounds and remove the stinking werewolf blood. “For fuck 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 the 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.