Shy Deer Steppes sotuknang

The patchwork hunter kept his pace. Each lengthy stride brought him closer to the pale woman. He could tell she was female from her scent. It drifted lazily by him like a perfume on the howling wind. While he was a dangerous fellow, his interest was in her reactions. She seemed to stiffen as he closed the distance between them. The fur along her neck and shoulders rose just enough for him to catch sight of it. Her legs seemed to lock her to her position in the snow. He crunched through it until he had given them no more than five yards and then froze. The hairs on the underside of his body seemed to rise and he shuddered. The taste of her scent against his tongue was euphoric. 

”Hello,” he snipped. Ithrik’s voice carried like that of a specter. He wanted to tell her that she looked positively delicious. He wanted to sink his nasty rotten teeth into her tender flesh and rip her apart. Both eyes danced along her features with a hungering expression. The hound was not sure how long he could go before he needed to feast again. Surely this one would make an ideal treat. Her pale coat would afford him a beautiful treasure, as well. 

Without precaution, Ithrik moved forward again. He inhaled sharply and sniggered at her fragrance. She was foreign to those parts. New to the wilds, just as much as he. No one would miss her, he convinced himself with a curling sneer. Swaying in place, the patchwork devil waited for her to speak so that he might know the taste of her voice as well as her body.