Blackfeather Woods Night of the Living Dead

He had arrived, yet after seeing the foolish Lennox offer to his mother a squirrel, he slipped away once again, knowing that he too must bring to his mother a tribute. to any other he would not have bothered, but he held his mother in great respect and thus his mind turned to honouring her with such a gift. only better.

minutes later the boy returned, jaw fastened around his own gift. he pulled it perhaps a little ungainly to his mother's paws, eyeing the squirrel with something with distaste as he spun, slipping away to watch from the shadows and leaving behind his offering. a skull, that of one of the many loners that served as tasteful decoration of their borders, this one bleached and picked clean by age. the boy had stached it somewhere ages ago, only now did he remember and think it a fitting tribute. 

gift deposited, the boy settled at the base of a sickly looking tree, watching the proceedings, staring at whatever should interest him with his gaze of ice blue.