The creature Tunnel does not make plans. His designs are created in the moments during which they are enacted. Seers do not find him easily even though he has no magical means of evading them. Most of the monsters in this forest hunt but this one does not, he only exists very still in the darkness until something comes to him or he suddenly moves off through the night.

Nightfall comes on slowly and in time leaves behind an ever shifting world of shadows that blurs fuzzily before the eyes of all but the owls and foxes. Most are eager for the dark and predators move through the needles and leaves, scratching and rustling. Black barred ears pivot slowly, listening to these familiar slitherings. A girl, onyx and white tests his tolerance for her, resting her small head over the slope of his strong short back. Another of his pets will chase her off soon, or the beast himself may turn suddenly to punish her without warning.

He has been in this tangled forest for years and is familiar with it’s night music and so he turns he head not toward the lesser creatures going about their routine but the silence that that pushes them back. Flat grey eyes find the subtlest and most diffuse glow, challenging the descent into total blackness beneath the ancient trees. The quiet lies just there, a meadow this time of night should be full of the sounds of deer grazing and roaming, being chased even but instead there is only quiet.

All the pets, the precious things are left behind to drift into the twilight wood together. The monster goes to inspect the quiet, a decision made instantly. Heavy bodied, his face masked in smudged black Tunnel pushes quietly through the undergrowth and into the meadow. Large hooves carrying him slowly toward the pale creature glowing so offensively. An angel cast adrift in their forest. “You do not belong here, lightwings.” It is a gravelly voice but the words are a statement, not a threat. “You are going to attract moths.”

Many come into this forest but he only interacts with a very few, usually only those unlucky enough to run into him directly. Its unusual for him to approach someone of his own accord. He considers her reply, eyes readjusting as the lights go out and she becomes a dim gray-white in the increasing darkness. “Moths are creatures of darkness, would you really want to see them in the light of day?” Dryly, and he moves closer still. He is no moth after all and does not lose interest once the light is doused.

Tunnel has no respect for personal space, he places himself beside her so that his side hovers only several inches from her pale one. This woman may have dimmed herself a little early, taking on a muted appearance but the blue creature beside her is shadowed by blackness shadows leaching into his skin like ink stains. “What are you doing then?” He  rumbles, gray eyes wandering from her to the dark clearing in which they stand. A pitiable place for a night time rendezvous by most standards, worse still for a hideout. The stallion could easily drift away into the dark where his precious things might gravitate toward him again but does not do so yet.

She might prove more diverting than his dark pets.