Come to kill the beast . spirit hunting

The hunger has always been there- been here not in her stomach, but just above her throat. It makes her laughs turn to wheezes, words into stutters- and eyes always tracking- not the chest or the eye of who she is speaking to- but the soul. It has been there for a long time- long enough that whisper forgets what it's like to have that hunger. The memories without it- are false somehow- (most of her memories are false- of a different person a different version of her, and it was unnerving to think about- to remember that she wasn't always in control- wasn't always herself.) But the hunger is not consuming- it is a reminder that she is alive, breathing whole- mortal (as close as she could get)

Whisper remembers what it's like to be dead, it is not a cold fearful feeling, but it is dark, and it is lonely. To her- to many there are no afterlife, just the void and it's oblivion. She has been there many times- died many times. Painful violent deaths that still leave their mark to this day- even now on her body- a smile scar under her chin- three long gashes under on her chest, small tick marks along her legs, two jagged scars from between her shoulder blades down her back. She has died many times, but she has only lived once- once truly. Only one of those deaths were hers and it is the thinnest scar, the smallest fracture under her chin. A small straight line. Somewhere along the string of deaths her soul has experienced, somewhere crossing the void, waiting for her body to heal, or her mind to forget- somewhere along the gained this hunger. Plucked part of the void and took it with her.

The hunger is a reminder that she is alive, and she could never be more grateful for it- it is grounding as much as it is reminding. But now it is a curse, back home she resides- the tanglewood and it's murky swamps and radioactive prey- but it isn't this she wants- nothing tangible that pulls her closer to camp as much as it is the hunger. She has done well to avoid it for now, but sitting so close to the source- where spirits haunt and she is so hungry she has been so good - doesn't she deserve a little reward?

But no- whisper had to wait a little more longer- even she wasn't stupid enough to wonder inside their old camp- where most of these old ancient powerful spirits seem to reside. But Whisper does stalk it's perimeters. Letting her own senses spread, eyes turning a darker- richer hue. Here her hunger takes hold, and her mask of politeness falls. She is just another predator to the untrained eye. To the trained it almost seems like something else takes over- like someone else takes over. (To the smart, to those who recollect- they may see that as a shed of skin- as it is. Whisper is her name, but who she portrays herself to be is not who she is.)-

When she spots a spirit, it's like walking up to a feast.

A dragon- small with deer like accents. Brown eyes a kind soulful expression. He doesn't seem to be waiting for someone- just watching the water near the marsh swish. She takes the opertunity, takeing to a faster gait, needy little thing eating up the dirt under her. As she appraches it will be harder the hide, but at a distance she still has surprise, and that won't last long enough. The soul is small, twice the size of a cat, but it is powerful enough. Strong, she has to end it quickly if she wants to come out unscathed.

He looks up just in time, the spirit. White scales glimmering in the stolen sunlight between the trees. Looks up the see whisper as a shadow against the sun leaping on his back, small looking claws comeing to dig in deeply at the edge of her spine and suddenly small and endearing now bloody and viseral. Of coarse- ghotsts to not bleed- they are not physical- but neither is whisper, not completely. She scrabbles up it's back, claws leaving openings that do not bleed-, but hurt all the same. Whisper clamps her fangs down along the spine of the spirit and watches it go down, the chunk she tore off disooveing into a burst of flavor, of power.

And now looking, time works against her.

Spirits can be split in half, in many different sizes, and now that it what it attempts to do, struggling under her hold - trying to save as much as it can, some slipping away. But whisper turns beast, turns into a spiralling void made to consume, and her jaw never closes. Ripping and tearing, gnashing and chewing. The sound is similar to that of ripping fabric, and there is no blood, but my, would it be, if only either of them were truly alive. Whisper, if ever the acolite of hunger, is one now. The hunger is on the surface, swarming consmeing telling her to eat eat e a t.

Today she feasts like she is starving, and when she pulls back it is like ribbons flowing in the wind, the body is almost gone, and the small pup looks up at the sun, sniffing the air and fineally-

A satisfied burp.

/// it got... too long so & i had no idea until i saw it on my computer so... I'll drop this here and make a second part later ^^" + Afterall, don't want to give too much away, ne?