Maya
Damn, that woman! She thought as she walked and stumbled again.
She gritted her teeth and dug her claws into the palm of her hand, or tried to grasp it. Her left arm had long since lost all feeling, her hand unable to clench as she tried to restore sensation to the useless limb.
Maya had never received a spiritual attack in her life, and had always avoided holy priests and the like for that reason. Although her encounters with werewolves endowed with such powers were limited, she knew instinctively that the dead woman was stronger than most, and she only had to be hit by one of her spiritually powerful arrows like Karenina.
They had traveled only a few hours, but the journey seemed much longer as the wound refused to heal and the blood had long since covered her red clot
