Bye, bye nighthounds

At last she killed her nighthounds.

Not because she had become a better warrior; she had, in fact, become weaker with time,
as if the faint breeze that played with her long dark locks had polluted her strong will and grown inside her.

But, maybe it was just this new acquired tenderness the skill that most helped her. When she looked at the hounds they were not able to disguise her intentions, and at the soft touch of her limp hand on their heads, they just sensed a vague scent of fear - quite natural, no soul remains untouched when meeting the nighthounds, they thought. They could not believe that those pale anaemic hands could hide such strength as to break their necks, so they lowered their guard and met her with playful minds. Seldom they could meet people when being awake, so they thought they could play their games of horror and gore as easy as when she was asleep.

But they were so wrong. At last she killed them.

With the soft but resolute grip of her hand she wrung the first one´s neck until the spine broke with a dry cracking sound, that resembled of breaking twigs for starting a fire. The other one stood nailed to the ground, starring at what was happening, without being able to understand the devastation it would bring. Until it couldn´t think no more. The light before its eyes disappeared
and the last thing it could sense was the echo of her laughter...