Blackfeather Woods evil's soft first touches

The devil had not intended to happen across the dark wood. He had finished his business with the three women. He had ventured and left them behind. The tail of the red girl was still clutched in his mouth. He had not left it. Ithrik would claim it as a prize for as long as he could. He thirsted to add to his collection; he ached to find the young girl again to finish his job. The long-legged hound had trekked across snowy steppes and ribbons of endless nothings. He had gone long enough and his intentions were to find his next meal, but then he had happened upon Iliksis' scent. For this, he diverted his path and followed it to the edges of a pack border. It was marked clearly and had recently been refreshed. Ithrik found the nearest marking and dropped to the earth to roll against it.

Rising back to his feet, the spindly reaper turned back and breathed in the scent of those who would dwell in the wood. The cover of the trees was thick and had saved much of their forest floor from the heavy snowfall. There were many bodies within. This was what intrigued the hound most of all. He prayed deeply for young blood. It had been so long since he had relished the limb of a child. They were always so easy to prey on – weak and powerless. Ithrik could not hope for anything more.

The devil drew back his head and yipped from the borders. His sharp tangerine gaze peered into the woods as he waited. Part of him wished to see the dull yellow eyes of his good nephew. Iliksis had been a bad boy and Ithrik was there to ensure the receipt of his punishment. He was interested to know if the boy had found the wolves of the wilds to be just as sweet and untroublesome as most children were before their death. He wondered how many were there. The patchwork fiend was engrossed in these lands and the prey that stretched before him. He thought he should stay for some time; he would certainly reap the reward.