The moon shone sorrowfully upon on the gruesome scene below her. Elin cried out in agony as a large and vicious wolf sunk his teeth into the sensitive flesh of her neck, his eyes wide and pupils dilated.
Her warm, crimson lifeblood spilled out onto the cold grass, melting the frost encasing it and staining the dirt as it soaked in.
Elin fell lifelessly to the icy ground, her eyes empty, and her soul still. She should have died in that moment. But Lord Hircine gazed down at the maiden with interest and allowed her to breathe once more.
Her adversary soon found himself free of clothes and shivering violently in the cold air. The guilt that he felt at the sight of the fallen woman made him numb, and he gathered her up in strong arms.
Borrowing her cloak, he carried her all the way back to Jorrvaskr.
"Did you do this, brother?"
Vilkas glanced up at Farkas, who was standing uncertainly in the corner. The woman lay asleep on Vilkas' bed, and her hair was spread out in golden waves across his pillow.
"Aye," Vilkas answered, and that was all.
His mood was sour thanks to the events that had transpired, and the tongue lashing he had received from Kodlak upon returning did not put him in the mood for conversation.
Luckily Farkas had never been the sort to talk very much and met his brother's silence with one of his own.
The woman had a steady heartbeat, but the bloody wound was yellow with pus. He had been violent in his turning of her, and it showed.
Vilkas bowed his head and rested it on her stomach. He felt each strangled breath, each small whimper. He whimpered himself.
And when she woke with a scream, he felt it too.
