Banquet:
She knew it was a trap. She knew it, but she trusted herself. She could not, did not, anticipate how prepared he had been. The meat was delicious, even though she rarely ate it. The poison was so fast, she could not even cry for help. She was in trouble.
Frustration:
She was not doing it right. She knew it. She picked up the hammer and began to beat the training dummy in earnest. One strike, two, three - the dummy snapped in half. She did not let up. She continued until the wood was so many splintered pieces. Still so unsatisfying.
Merciful:
She stood over the orc, bloody axe in hand. He groaned, bleeding. It was not mercy that stayed her hand. The alliance needed answers. So she bound his limbs and began to drag his half-dead body back to the camp. Maybe she was wrong to hurt him back. Maybe.
Fast Food:
She settled into the dive, wings tucked in. The unfortunate cow would have no idea what happened. One moment, it was standing, peaceful, and the next, she had snapped its neck, her talons impaling its skull.
She ripped its flesh open, beginning to feast in earnest.
She had killed well.
