Post by Dianthe Nevar on Apr 18, 2011 14:54:11 GMT -5
Dianthe had been feeling it for approximately a week now. Like a pressure cooker, underneath her bronzed skin, her beast scratching and clawing its way out of her. Her voice was edgy with a few customers at Bling! and she wasn't sure they would return to her jewelry store, but oh well.
She was a lycan. A were-raven. The night of the full moon brought with it its own disaster. Her Dodge Challenger finally died almost near her hunting grounds, and she ran barefoot the rest of the way, shedding her dress and heels, garter belt and bra, and stockings along the way. She left a trail like Hansel and Gretel did, instead she left clothing instead of breadcrumbs.
Until she stood under the moon's cool light, it shining like a beacon on her tawny flesh, little dots of pain prickling her skin like someone ran cactus' thorns up against her insides. She didn't succumb to the pain like some did, the Haitian woman mumbled her last intelligible words in French before she was rocked off her feet. Her scream grew louder, then higher, until it was a cawing sound.
Her face became pointed, eyes of onyx moving back as her wide beak was formed. The skin split wide apart, goo dripping to the ground in pools around what used to be her feet but were now clawed talons. All over Dianthe's body was glossy black feathers, and she was the size of a big Great Dane dog. "Caw!" she cried, hopping away from the human coil that was once her. With a flap of her wings, she was off, high in the sky above the trees looking like some prehistoric beast with an incredibly large wingspan.
A herd of whitetail deer caught the Corax's attention and she dived low on a downdraft for further exploration to find the weakest in the small herd. A fawn. That would sate her hunger. She fell into a vertical dive as the herd started to run. Like she figured, the fawn was no match for the large bird, who could eat her fill of deer meat, or benefit from another's hunt. Tonight she would catch her own meal. The tiny fawn was culled from the doe's side, and gripped tightly in black talons, bleating softly as it was flown aloft.
Dianthe landed in a meadow to enjoy her meal. It was still alive when the Corax pecked its eyes out of its head, eating those first. Once the fawn was dead, she feasted upon its nutritious flesh. Gobbets of flesh hung from her black beak as she looked up to see if any others were watching. There were predators for birds as well, and she had to be careful. Feeling nervous, she flapped her wings, and brought the carcass up into a tall pine tree, and continued her feeding for the night.
