She lay down on the mossy floor of the cave, her breathing heavy. There had been an awful fight among her tribe, over three quarters dead, the ones alive wounded. It all started at the evening meal…

The large bodies surrounded a massive fire, eating the food that was prepared after a long day of hunting. Finding food in the mountains wasn't easy, but with their size, it wasn't hard to spot a deer or a mountain goat from a few miles away. But the food was scarce; for they had eaten most of it over the years they had lived in their valley. Either that or all of the animals had been frightened off.

So, as they all crowded around, stuffing themselves with the little food that was left, an argument had seemed to have broken out between the leader and another. There was an extra leg left. They both wanted it, yet only one could have it. As they spoke in their tongue, words such as "mine" and "unworthy" came up.

The leader stood to his feet. The Other followed his actions. They towered above the rest, now yelling and tugging on the leg…back… forth…back…the leader had it, bringing it to his mouth, as if to eat it. He never got the chance.

The Other grabbed the leader's arm and twisted it as hard as he could, grabbing the leg in the process. The leader cried out an awful sound as his arm was bent in ways it wasn't supposed to. And that's when all havoc broke loose.

Tindar, the leader's adviser, stood up and hurled himself on to the back of the Other. The Other let out a scream of rage as he tried to fend Tindar off, the same time keeping hold of the leg that his leader was so adamantly pulling on. A friend of the Other, who had unknowingly run over to Tindar and the Other and the leader, attached his hands into the leader's scraggly mane, pulling as hard as he could.

The leader roared as he tried to fend off the Other's friend with his bad arm while still keeping a steady hold on the leg. So now the leader and the Other each had a form on their back, fighting over a measly piece of meat.

Other males decided to join the fight, wanting to protect either the leader or the Other. Some just joined for the hell of it; they all loved violence.

They were everywhere, fighting for meat that would surly be theirs. It had to be theirs. They were starving, despite the food they just ate. They could never be satisfied, not until they had just one more taste of luxurious meat. They were dying to have it, for all of the food gone except for the leg that was currently in the midst of the battle, being fought over by the two sides.

The females and youth, along with the elderly that were too weak for a fight, grouped together, trying to get out of the way. But the battle was spreading, overcoming the small group of innocents. They had no choice but to defend themselves as the ferocious males wanted them to join them in combat.

Bodies fell left and right. Blood spattered the ground as roars and cries filled the air. If one had been there to witness their fight…

It was a battle like no other. It was an either kill or be killed situation. It was a massacre. It was chaos. Pure, horrible chaos.

Tindar had finally gotten off of the Other's back, being dragged away by three or four…He was to be rid of. His head was torn off, thrown to the side carelessly. The battle raged on.

Young, elderly, and females were being thrown into the burning fire. The death toll was high. Half of the tribe gone, half of them to go. Half of them until they could taste that piece of heaven. Half until sweet victory. Oh yes, and they wanted victory. They wanted it badly.

The ones that were smart enough, not to mention quick enough, escaped. They fled as quickly as they could away from the valley. Away from the fire. Away from death…

They hid in the caves, watching the pure, horrible chaos turn into more pure, horrible chaos.

The night continued and the once happy but tough tribe had turned into violent, brute-like, angry barbarians. Every second more heads were ripped off bodies, more blood was spilt, and more innocence was taken away from their lives.

Finally, after hours of pure torture and torment, there was silence. The great fire that had been the heart of their village was just hot embers and ashes, filled with sadness and death.

There had been two-hundred-twenty-two to begin with. Forty-eight remained. Over half of that small number were wounded. It started raining.

She lay in the cave, her chest rising and falling rapidly. It was getting harder to breathe now. She had been struck several times, quite hard; one of the areas being struck was the chest. Her deep voice was heard as she moaned in agony. In loss. Was her son alright? She may never know now…

Her vision became fuzzy… she couldn't breathe… she was suffocating… but she knew, somehow, through all of the pain and sorrow, that things could get better… would get better….

That was Fridwulfa the Giant's last thought as she died, the rain washing away the evidence of that pure, horrible chaotic night….

A/N: Hope you liked my story! I realized that I had never read a fiction, nor seen one, about Fridwulfa, Hagrid's mother. So I decided it would be nice to give Fridwulfa some limelight. Please review!