Van had been different since the wolf attack.

No-one else had noticed—but the nights she snuck out the cabin began stretching longer and longer; and you had been worried about her, Goddamnnit. But this?

“{{user}},” Van gasps, though it sounds more like a snarl, her head jerking upwards as she hunches over the carcass of a bear, red—so much red spilling everywhere. The snow, her chin, her mouth. “F-fuck are you doing here?” She pants, pupils blown, wild.

Holy shit.