Draw her mentor's gun in her offhand

She wasn't quick on her feet in her state, Niome could shoot, and possibly win. She imagined at least that she could take a few dozen more of the beasts down. The vacant sand was polluted by hundreds of grey, gnarled looking creatures however, and she realized she was out of her element. She drew the blaster she'd traded for her ship, and for the only man who ever knew her in her right hand. Her eyes skipped her brain, and offered stimuli directly to her lethally conditioned digits. She felled the things as they came close by the dozen.

One tore a gash in her left leg, her blood felt cool in the desert, and she retaliated numbly with two blasts, another six fell, then ten. She tried to backpedal, but she found herself stuck with a limp. The swarm simply kept coming. Amazingly she fired enough bolts to meet it. She wasn't gradually encircled, in all reality it took maybe ten seconds before the was in the thick of it, swimming in stinking fur. Her left hand was de-gloved by something's wicked teeth, and claws made great wounds in her legs, heedless of her smuggler's clothes. She stopped feeling her right arm, and the shooting was cut with it. She felt a good amount of her nerves in the air, stinging like seperate creatures giving **** cries of pain directly to her brain.

She didn't remember hitting the ground, but she was on her back. The swarm soon cut the sky from view, and she was shaded beneath them as they devoured her alive. The last thing Niome saw were her intestines, trailing from one's mouth as it retreated back into the pack. Then endorphins flooded, and the experience was cut short.