Shy Deer Steppes sotuknang

The steppes thus far had proven to be entirely uninteresting to the patchwork hound. It was a drab stretch of all that seemed lifeless and barren. A layer of snow had fallen to cover it in white, but it did little to spark any amount of inspiration from the landscape. Ithrik tread across it on nimble paws. His tangerine gaze was settled on the distance, following nothing but the bouncing white steppes as he made his way. The devil was uninspired here, and it made him irritable and restless. The hairs along his neck and back had risen. His ears were splayed atop his crown. He wanted to be rid of this dreadful view. He thought to turn around and scour back the women he had already passed. One of them had left with more than he had been comfortable with.

Ithrik slowed his pace and lingered in a single area for a short while. His mind raced with voices and words. His chest felt as though it were tightened, restricted. These auditory hallucinations were so real to him. The hound's head was held low to the earth. He scoured his front and sides for any signs of others, but found none. The voices he heard were perfectly real, though. He was doing their work and he felt so gratified.

Still, they were thoughtful voices too. They ensured that the hound was caring for himself and indulging in sweet rewards. They cared for him in a way that no one else could. Even then, they lovingly reminded him that it had been a short while since he had eaten. If he was to spend some time still traveling, he would need to eat again soon. But there was only one thing he really wanted to eat and he had not caught scent of his kith since he laid foot on the steppes. He had left behind the fiery girl who had pleaded for him to stop. He only had his trophy to remember her by; her tail was clutched between his teeth. Drool had wet it and dirt had already collected in it, making it look ratty and old. He would not part with it.