There is some peace, then. [Quiet meant as much, at least to Maria, an it wasn't something she'd known in the Nightmare or on the Hunts. Her life had been noisy, full of wails and screams and roars, but the death after was worse. Everything was elevated there, louder, more persistent. The wailing of failed experiments don't cease when you're cursed to hear them always, always, never stopping.]

Sound Eaters, you say... are a manner of beast? Or something less knowable?