04-11-2022, 02:53 PM
my shadow's shedding skin ...
“Should you be out here, alone?”
It’s his favorite question to ask. As if he is benevolent, a protector of the small, concerned about their wellbeing. He’s not, in case you were wondering. He unfolds himself from the shadows, not quite behind the colt, but in the opposite direction of where he is looking. His eyes are black voids that drinks in what little light the boy’s stars give off. He has been looking for Dretch for weeks, what little patience he possesses eroding with each fruitless day that passes.
A gaunt, lanky creature, only one of the many things that go bump in the forest, he drops his head a moment. A few moths flutter in the air over his head, no doubt drawn to the soft glow of the earthbound stars. Brushing his gaze on the colt’s silver and red one before casting it into the part of the forest the colt had been looking toward, he chuffs once, a low, guttural sound. His hellhound springs from the darkness. She is a thing of nightmares but Niklas finds only beauty in the smoke-like wraith. More a wolf/hyena hybrid than a hound, she reeks of brimstone and the acrid stench of the fear that she oft gorges on. Lips parted in a silent snarl, forked tongue lolling from her mouth, she bounds toward the colt with outstretched paws – and ghosts through him, trotting to a now-grinning Niklas’ side to rub her head along his shoulder like a common housecat.
“I’m looking for my --.” He’s cut off when he is forced to vaporize, becoming a cloud of black smoke that a grinning Dretch sits on.
It’s his favorite question to ask. As if he is benevolent, a protector of the small, concerned about their wellbeing. He’s not, in case you were wondering. He unfolds himself from the shadows, not quite behind the colt, but in the opposite direction of where he is looking. His eyes are black voids that drinks in what little light the boy’s stars give off. He has been looking for Dretch for weeks, what little patience he possesses eroding with each fruitless day that passes.
A gaunt, lanky creature, only one of the many things that go bump in the forest, he drops his head a moment. A few moths flutter in the air over his head, no doubt drawn to the soft glow of the earthbound stars. Brushing his gaze on the colt’s silver and red one before casting it into the part of the forest the colt had been looking toward, he chuffs once, a low, guttural sound. His hellhound springs from the darkness. She is a thing of nightmares but Niklas finds only beauty in the smoke-like wraith. More a wolf/hyena hybrid than a hound, she reeks of brimstone and the acrid stench of the fear that she oft gorges on. Lips parted in a silent snarl, forked tongue lolling from her mouth, she bounds toward the colt with outstretched paws – and ghosts through him, trotting to a now-grinning Niklas’ side to rub her head along his shoulder like a common housecat.
“I’m looking for my --.” He’s cut off when he is forced to vaporize, becoming a cloud of black smoke that a grinning Dretch sits on.
