She would make her way to the wagon, her eyes still blinded by the situation.  Illness in a way, mental and physical alike.  The mule could sense this surely as it pulled on the end of it's tether to escape.  However to it's fortunes Wiflor would not come to it.  Instead she would wander upon the wolf body that's head was crushed into stone on the ground.  Placing her foot on it's back she would take it's hand...<br/><br/>One could hear the bone and tendons of the fortified muscles of the wolf breaking, tearing, stretching until it tore completely off from the main body.  Dragging it with her it would be raised shortly after and torn into it as though it were a hunted treat, biting hard enough to keep it in her maw as she took to the wall again. The entire time growling with exhaustion with every passing minute.  The arm of the wolf was her reward.<br/><br/>She paid nothing else mind.  Not the scent of the freshly picked bane.  Not the off taste of a were creature's blood.  Nothing.  In truth it was thanks to her powerful digestive tract that aided against even the cursed blood.  The poison of their existence.  Vampires held little warrant to her as well when their flesh comes to be ingested.  Poisons too were much the same.  Though things injected rather ingested were troublesome still.<br/><br/>Flesh bone and all would be eaten of the muscular arm, bits of fur being all that might linger after her meal.  Not Cyrus nor Atticus would find ground to take her reward either, more so as she went up the wall.  The first two wolves had well intact hearts but Wiflor's third victim barely had fragments remaining after being all but decimated in the line of destruction that Wiflor had run.  Wiflor would not sleep that night.  What little sanity she had left in such a place, she could not sleep for darkness truly found way into other's spirits when they fell to rest and entered the ether in dream.<br/><br/>By morning she was still acting the watch dog, or cat in some regards, her fur licked clean by her own doing for her hatred of the sensation of anything making a mess of it.  Especially the scent and sensation of blood that dried and forged knots when left too long.  She knew well enough not to leave it be.  By the time they were fully prepared and setting their way out Wiflor was all too quick to rush to their wagon and hide among the supplies for her own short little cat-nap.  Only falling to sleep once they left the ground hollow of life's touch.  That even nature denied.<br/><br/>By the time they left the grounds she all but returned back to normal.  Her mannerisms became careless and free, her restful state obvious.  Though if they ever entered similar grounds in the travel she would surely wake only to sleep again upon passing.  Even fed on the flesh of the wolf man she ultimately was in no condition to stay awake mid day.