She felt nothing but pain. Broken bones grated against each other as she pulled herself to a sitting position. She bit down hard against a scream and blood trickled from her lips. She could not afford to attract attention in the state she was in. The damage she had taken would have killed a mortal, it had not killed her but her body’s futile attempts to heal itself had drained her and left her undead nature more obvious than usual.
The wolf before her pants heavily, licking blood from his muzzle. Morgane softly coos, kneeling down in the dirt to thread her fingers through the fur on either side of his face. Red eyes wide and wild with pain and adrenaline stare up at her, and it’s only years of training that keeps her own face attached. Instead of snapping at her, he collapses onto her lap like the last act he’s capable of. Not that she’s about to let that be the case, of course.
The agonized shrieks of the young Argonian came to a crescendo as Varona Salavel continued to cut away at his scales and the flesh just beneath. The blade she wielded shimmered with a crimson enchantment, punctuated with the tinted telltale green of poison.