The (Unwritten) Death of Sreya Bahari

This is half of a larger piece posted at Tower that permitted me to write a very personal 3rd person perspective of the death of a crucial character in my book, Sreya Bahari. Only the aftermath of her death is observed in the book since it is written from the first person perspective of another character, but the moments here from Sreya's perspective are in keeping with what Trent experiences upon entering the territory and finding her.
I considered posting the whole piece, but it is very graphically violent and posting it so publically was against my better judgement. So, this occurs after Sreya has awoken post-skinning on the verge of death. It's still pretty disturbing so if things of this sort do not appeal to you, please reconsider reading. Most of the terminology also probably makes no sense without the background of the rest of the novel. And oh - the full texted started with "Sreya Bahari was not dying... yet." if you are pondering the wording of the last few sentences.
Ok, side notes are over. I'd say enjoy but that's hardly the right word.

___Sreya didn't recall any sensation of opening her eyes, but she found herself staring out at rocks spattered in dried blood through vision narrowed to tunnels by hypoxia nonetheless. The early morning sun filtered down brighter than it ought to on the territory, and it took a moment for her to realize that this was due to an absence of shade; the trees had been burned to blackened spires pointing like accusatory skeletal fingers at the heavens: why us!? There was a haze in the air, a few smoldering embers on the fringes of the rendezvous still leaking feeble clouds of dark smoke - this she heard and smelled more than saw, unable to turn her head to observe the carnage. Perhaps in this aspect, shock was mercy, for the sights all around would have been enough to crush the very soul of a matriarch.
___Her body felt cold and numb, and even to her own senses her heartbeat was weak and erratic, breaths too shallow and gurgling; Sreya mused that, were she brought to Wild Woods, she would be very much concerned about the survival of herself. The flies were aware of it; as the day warmed with the rising sun, they started to gather in swarming hordes, hovering over her body hesitantly as if wondering if they could land without risk. I heard a fly buzz... and she may have laughed ironically had she the strength for it. Any delirious humor was promptly erased as she watched one circle lower, so close to her eye that she could keenly see its iridescent sides shining blue and green in the sunlight. It moved to land, and she reflexively blinked - or should have, but nothing happened. Its feet touched the surface of her eye, tongue probing, antennae twitching. Regurgitated saliva pooled against her cornea, her eye watered with discomfort, but no lid fell in protection. Only then did she remember the sensation of the flint's blade sliding beneath her skin...
___Oh god. Oh GOD! Her frightened eyes rolled artificially wide from the absence of surrounding skin as the fly alighted. They fell over a forearm stripped nearly to muscle, smooth handiwork, the kind you saw of professional furriers. At her naked elbow, bands of striated bright white clung over corded red - was it the ulnar collateral ligament? The realization was so horrific that it stunned her; she did not cry out in pain, didn't tremble or struggle. Who knows if shock would have allowed it, anyways. Instead she floated in precious numbness, immersed in the surreal feeling of her fleshless body slowly dying.
___How many minutes, hours, eternities passed? There was a sudden disturbance in the clan's espiritus that roused her from the nebulous gray of semi-consciousness. The many new energies, filled with fresh confusion, pain, fury,and sorrow, stirred abruptly, filling the air with an uncomfortable sensation akin to invisible hands charged with electricity groping frantically at one's body - like ghosts seeking a host. This milling, tumultuous presence crescendoed as the sound of footsteps became audible on the charred soil. The bloodied, battered holes in her snout where there once had been nostrils sucked in shallow breaths, attempting to smell whomever was approaching. Therian - she could detect wolf, and terror anew sharpened her senses, for this was now a scent she associated with the most profound of traumas in her life. Her muscles trembled, energy fought to rally, but she could not flee, could not fight.
___The increasing cadence of Sreya's frightened heart beats only spirited her more quickly towards death. One lung was collapsed and the other fast approaching the same fate as blood pooled in the recumbent chest cavity. The rising pulse demanded more oxygen, oxygen the body could not provide, and rushed blood to the giant singular wound that her body had become. She could barely register her surroundings as a shadow fell over her, but she growled low in her throat, ready to use the last tattered remnants of her strength to fight back if need be. The muscles of her mouth attempted to pull themselves into a defiant snarl as the werewolf crouched at her side, hands poised over her body to inflict more harm.
___The werewolf... he smelled of hyena, as well. The espiritus calmed in his presence, humming curiously, milling and coiling between them as though confused in their loyalties. He extended one trembling hand, a human hand with elegant dark-skinned fingers, and brushed a tiny scrap of black fur left behind on the back of her hand. Immediate electricity - her senses were flooded with the smell of damp moss, rotting deciduous leaves, the crisp chill of mountain air. This melted to something sweltering and foreign, a feline musk, and now the familiar wan of sun-dried savanna grasses and dung from large herbivores. That was signature to only one therian that she knew; Trent had come to the clan's territory, after all.
___Someone was shouting, a wild, frantic flurry of words, profanity and sobs intermingled. It sounded distant, like someone screaming from the bowels of a cave. Energy heated the air until it felt as though the forest were aflame once more. Her breaths were growing more difficult, her pulse more sluggish. With the narrow field of her vision fading by the moment, she couldn't make sense of what was going on. Sensation was all but gone, but she thought she felt firm hands upon her raw cheeks. Intense dark eyes glossed over with tears and raw with agony slowly dissolved from her sight, and like a spectral whisper despite it being shouted in her face, she heard the words "I love you." She wished she could respond, tried to force the words.
___And then - Sreya Bahari was dying. Her other lung caved. No smell. No sight. No sound. Her pulse stuttered. Her heart stopped. Something battered and worn slumped lifeless to the rocks, but what joined the espiritus in that moment was fierce and vivacious, like the wilds of Nigeria where it had been Born.