Lost Creek Hollow soul cleave

follow the scent, follow the screams...

the ghoul made his way on swift limbs that stretched out his ragged form like a polecat. from the back of his throat there was a strangled gurgle and wheeze that accompanied each beating mark of his paws against the earth. a dark tongue lolled from the side of his parted mouth, drizzling as he pushed further. 

in the hollow there was a whisper of wind that toyed against the jagged branches overhead. the ghoul slowed his rapid pace and panted for a moment. the darkness of his eyes sought signs of life; he hungered for the company of another creature - one of flesh and bone

with only a small amount of personal reservation, stigmata took up the tedious task of scouting. he felt it would be the most practical distraction from bearclaw -- feeling that it was better for him to work on getting to know the wilds surrounding the valley in which he had taken roost in, rather than to waiting around to fall victim to his own ambition. it would be a needless venture now; to sow discord out of mating season, just so that he might nurse a fractured pride and rectify what he perceived to be a "misplacement" in their ranks, seemed foolhardy at best. so he traveled -- leaving little opportunity for him to idle into chaos.

skirting the uninteresting markings of a pack not his own, the sandraudiga male slipped into the shaded robe of a tall forest. he perused about with mild intrigue, suppressing his imperial inner monologue until it was nothing but a tinnitus-like ringing in his ears. he was almost glad for the hooded figure ahead of him beneath the emerald canopy, and pining for further distraction he made a low, non-threatening noise to attract the wraith's attention.

hell was rife with the scent of the living. this was an oddity to the ghoul, for he had not yet experienced a time in which purgatory had held so many fresh bodies within it. the reaper was eager to know them - to seek them out - and to taste of their savory flesh. he had gone so long without it that his bones had begun to ache and creak. if he was not careful, the stygian creature was likely to find himself in the thick of the worst trouble he would ever know. punishment was difficult to offer in such a realm of existence. he knew that if he were to experience true misery, it would be from the hands of his master, the devil. 

a sound. 

turning sharply, the wraith caught sight of the lumbering creature, poised strongly atop a set of sturdy limbs and crafted with the finest of tools to create a thick beast. the ghoul's inkjet gaze glimmered at him in the light overhead. he blinked only once at the sight of the stranger wolf. the other had summoned his attention, and he had garnered it well enough. the ghoul did not speak, but ran a thick purple tongue along his lips and muzzle while he waited. 

it was a fiend he had called to, stigmata could see that, but he was not to be deterred by appearances, and further still he didn't fear the reaper's hound. he was cautious, as one should be in the presence of a hooded figure, but a natural-born sense of curiosity compelled him closer still. he went as near as four wolflengths from the other male, and wondered at the stranger's brand of intelligence when he gave him no verbal return. stigmata decided to graduate from making noise to using his silvery voice, and see if it elicited a different response.

"care for a stranger's company?" he rumbled with genuine regard, feeling eager to find out if this unpredictable wolf's initial impression of him -- which had allowed him this close -- had waned at all since coming nearer.

the question that was presented was one that struck him as an oddity. the ghoul cared for very little, this was was evident. he was cloaked in a thin layer of grease that caused his dark figure to shimmer against the touch of light. his dark coat was ragged and tattered, standing like jagged peaks along his neck and shoulders. his muzzle was crusted in blood from kills long before that point. it was obvious that he did not care for much. 

so, when this stranger inquired if he cared for company, the ghoul lifted his crown upward and peered on the male with glistening inkjet eyes. the tip of his tail was lifted just three inches from where it had been before. he blinked twice and swiveled his left ear. this wolf was living, he was certain, but the other's lack of fear was reason for pause. the wraith wondered if he was a trick crafted by the devil himself, aimed to wreak havoc. 

no, the ghoul did not care. 

he took another few steps toward the stranger and drew in the scent that he carried. his coat was awash with the aroma of pack wolves. this was a promise of life nearby. with no verbal response, the wildling waited for the stranger to move. should he hold his ground and remain where he was, the ghoul would turn and permit the other to follow. 

with a dark twinkle flashing deep from wells of inkjet, stigmata thought he saw life yet in the ragged beast -- an asset worth having if he had anything left in that ghoulish shell to give. he let the shadow skulk nearer, and the truncheon he had serving as his tail wagged slow in invitation. he returned what boundaries he was given: sniffing over the haunting male as thoroughly as he was allowed.

standing back, he lifted his tail and made a slight motion to the silent male, showing a cool eagerness to steer the wicked eidolon into his caste.

the other gestured for the ghoul to follow, and so he did. there was little fear in him regarding the capability of strangers; he did not care one way or another how their interaction would go. the reaper was only interested in freeing himself from the confines of the devil's iron grip. not thinking that this brute might be a means to that end, it did not occur to him to make an attempt on his life. instead, he followed at a close distance and drank in the scent of the others that were on him. there was promise there. wherever they should go, the ghoul would search for his souls when they had arrived. 

as egocentric as he could be, stigmata was not intellectually inclined to lead a stranger to his fortress -- especially not one with a mien so gruelingly unpredictable. he felt pained by having to pay attention to what the male was doing at all times, and he thought that eventually he'd grow weary of it. for the time being, however, he led the pit-well shadow away with surreptitious intent, and under the guise of a hunt he tried to acquaint himself better with the male. it was an apathetic attempt at best, and his tight-lipped company didn't convince the valley wolf that he would be a great fit for a small pack with many children.

without incident, the two savages parted.