Wapun Meadow broken fingernails

The pale coat leaped out of of his way. Ithrik moved past her and swung wide, lowering his head to defend the tender underside of his neck. He cared very little to be subtle; the devil was not at all like his nephew when picking his victims. The pale mask over his eyes lifted some. The burning of his gaze rested on her features with a savage hunger. Circling wide around her, the devil curled his lip over gnarled, rotten teeth and he smiled. The vile brute paused, raising his skull upward and searching for the weakest point in which he could land a strike. The hunger ached against his gut. He would taste her, no matter her speed or strength.

With a few swaying steps, he began to close the distance that stood between them. His shoulders rolled as he drew toward her figure. The vile hound regarded her with a raised muzzle before he darted forward, jaws agape, aiming to latch tightly to one of her slender limbs.