A black streak across the ground marked where it was as the wolf lunged for the female samurai. It cut past her, leaving a long streak of blood across her arm. The woman stumbled, her fiery hair falling loose from the ribbon that held it up as the wolf's claws cut through it.
Nuria turned around quickly to face it again; sword drawn, she took a fighter's stance, preparing for it to come around for the next attack; despite the pain of her wounds, she was calm, determined and ready to face her fears as the beast struck again.
This time, both beast and samurai tumbled to the ground in a tangle of claws and blades. A splash of blood spilled on the ground, dark crimson in the night. The wolf slumped down, the sword protruding through its torso, tainted with his foul blood.
Nuria pulled her katana back out of the lifeless corpse and stood shakily, using the blade to help her remain up. Her second katana lay nearby where it had been knocked from her hands and she retrieved it hastily. Two other immobile corpses of wolves, and a dozen men and woman alike lay around her.
Gorons, Sheikah, even a few Kokiri. All lay lifeless. She had been unable to save them and she cursed herself for it. If only she had arrived a little sooner, she continued telling herself, then she could have had a chance to save them before the wolves had feasted upon their flesh.
It was then a haunting thought struck her. With a sole thought in her mind now, she ran towards the other side of the village, in a vain hope that one certain woman may still be alive. In hopes she lay as she always did, looking as sickly as ever, upon her bed. And she desperately hoped it had not become her deathbed.
