The last he had seen of her, she had been on the ground below him, bending her knee to that waste. The one he had once aligned himself to… the ghost king who wanted to know his greatness in the eyes of those he held subservient. The forests had run dry with the memory and the screams of the dead, and it was only just now that the trees were coming back. His wall remained, though it was wearing away as the bramble crumbled and the vines wound their way through it, taking back the forest and making it wild again.
Wild, like the woman whose scent now bled into the ground. He was stalking her as one stalks prey. The ground was soft, the lichen a stench to his nose. He has found himself enjoying this form of late, the fangs that hang down and clip his pink tongue, allowing him to taste his own blood, savoring the copper on his palate. His black eyes were bright, his ears erect. Since that day, he has not been seen in his normal form, though now the time has come…
He steps out, pawing at the ground again, snorting his derision. His black tangled fur hangs in stringy clumps on his back, his tail erect…knowing. He smiles darkly when she speaks then… his distraction, his darling witch.
She was beautiful. And nobody’s fool.
His voice rolled over her, not bothering to disguise himself. “But what fun is it in the wanting, Thana? You’re so much more fun when you impose your will on others. Isn’t that what you are best at? Where is your precious lapdog? Let him off his leash with his crown tipped over his ears?” He angrily snorts, bearing his teeth and almost barking that last sentence. A king. A ghost.
Nothing.
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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