Shy Deer Steppes sotuknang

@Ithrik

For a place so void of life, Sitala found a comfort in the stillness that she knew would not sit well with the others. The snow stretched on for miles in every direction. It was deeper where you would least expect it, although the weather was hardly ever an issue for the large woman. She was slow to make her way but she was patient, practiced, as if each step was the most deliberate action - this ghost who melded so fabulously with the untouched blanket of white. Her dark nose gave her away; the flash of golden eyes, too.

She was set on her goal: to find shelter for the daughters, and food for the sisters. Once a foothold could be made in this place then life could continue. They could retreat to the safety of their land (wherever that may be) and the daughters would flourish. She did it all for them—they were the future.

It was not common for Sitala to be on her own, nor far from her family at all. Something about the way Namid had been speaking to Kimala did not sit well with her. The dour look upon the youngster's face had not gone unnoticed. When she vanished within the next couple of hours, Sitala was more than happy to go after her. It was not the first time the girl had ignored her responsibility, nor the last time Sitala would let her maternal instincts guide her to follow.

However, it was not Kimala that the ghost spied upon this evening; the silhouette was patchwork at best, and she could hardly tell where the wolf ended or the night sky began. It was a larger figure than anything even vaguely similar to the girl, and this made Sitala seize in her advance. She slowed to a crawl, then completely, and watched the distant silhouette with a suspicious eye.

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.

She dared not speak as she came upon the oddly patterned wolf (if that was what this was), although she did not do much to mask the sound of her steps upon the snow. Sitala knew what a threat looked like—often it was large, fanged, or multifaceted in the manner of her own sisters—and so she was not as timid as some. Often it had been Sitala that was the threat; so she had been taught, so the world would remain.

As the ghost slipped in a crescent pattern around the idling wolf, she caught sight of something extending from the maw. Sitala's ears shot forward as she was struck by a thought: Kamali? No. It was small but noticably dense and vibrant, like a fox pelt. Nothing like the girl.

A glance to the surrounding terrain told her everything else she needed to know: aside from some flecks of discoloration across the frosted earth, there was no indication that this object had come from this location. She took a deep breath; the scent of blood was upon the air but it was old. It left her with further questions.

The she-wolf chose to advance rather than to flee, believing she understood the risks of the situation. This was a lone wolf with a meal—nothing more. Her aim was to slip around him and move on, keeping attuned to the trail left by the departing Kamali in the process.

Ithrik was lulling himself into a stupor. His lanky body swayed in place. His eyelids fluttered over the sharp orange of his eyes. Both orbs were glossed over and had fallen into the thousand-yard stare. The devil was relishing in his sins. He stood, reliving the touch and feel of them in his mind. The hound shuddered as he recalled the fiery girl and her pleas. She had been so precious. She had been so full of fear. The patchwork brute's heart thrummed violently at the recollection. If only he had more of her memory to cling to. The restlessness stirred him and his eyes fluttered back open once more.

Splayed ears caught the sound of crunching snow. In a snapping twist, Ithrik craned his neck and latched his fervid gaze on her pale-coated body. She looked smart, curling around him like the curve of the moon. The devil watched her for a long minute. His eyes did not blink; they only followed her pattern in any direction she chose. It appeared that she was making an effort to close the distance between them – if only slightly.

You're hungry, the sharpest voice rattled through his mind. This one, he called Apostle. This one was the most savage of all of them. “You're right,” Ithrik hissed softly. His stomach clenched in agreement with the conversation. His gaze still remained fastened to the female. Her body appeared so delicate and careful. He wondered if her tender bits tasted differently than the others. Fear had such a diverse sapor. The taste was never the same. He wondered how this pale one would taste when he sunk his teeth into her. He wondered how she would feel to sink himself into and fuck. His flesh pricked at the thought. The hound did not stir, though.

Despite the chill of the season Sitala felt a twist, then a burn, to the pit of her belly. It was not the same feeling she had beheld when coupling with either of her suitors—nothing so tangibly basic, nothing good—and she wondered if perhaps leaving this stranger and his meal was a wise decision. Hunting was always more difficult at this time of the year even if Sitala ran with others; she wondered if this feeling was something close to hunger, but it was too vague a sensation.

She lifted her eyes to the dark-shape of the man in passing, and noticed then the eyes glowering back across the snow.

It was impossible to tell if she had been spotted in earnest, or if he was merely searching with his senses. Her pace slowed then, for she grew cautious despite her strength of body and deep-seeded confidence, and as her momentum ceased Sitala took to watching him. They stared at one another across a gap of bare snow, and she turned an ear, thinking that the wind had carried a sound upon it—but then the wind picked up, and a weak but eerie howling commenced.

Still, she half circled him and watched him with an intent expression. He held his own sights firmly to the movement of her body. Ithrik was analyzing her; he was picking apart each piece of her that he believed would be delectable. It did not take long for the female to slow her pace. This amused him. Just in this moment, the wind shifted and the devil's ears perked at the top of his skull to catch the ominous howling as it stretched across the steppes. Her confidence seemed to wane, but he was slowly growing his own. The hound did not want to lose his trophy – the tail – but he was interested to know if he could broaden his victim range. He did need to eat.

Flicking his tail upward, Ithrik placed his tail gently on top of the snow to his right. He stared at his lovingly for a moment before he turned his gaze back to the alabaster woman who had all but stopped her closing in on him. In a sudden move, Ithrik's legs began to carry him toward the stranger. His pace was evenly set and not quick enough to cause immediate alarm. The devil only wanted to close the space that had stretched between them. If she should run, he would be quick to chase her down. As he drew closer, he began to drink in her aroma. His molten gaze was trained to her features.

They did not watch one another for long. He seemed to settle (although this did little to ease whatever apprehension she had felt) and then, perhaps spurred on by her presence, he rose and began to move. The object he had been carrying was left abandoned atop the snow and she stood thoughtful for a breath. In the end, although Sitala was confident in her ability to keep herself safe, she chose to keep the distance between the two of them.

Her hunger wasn't so grand that she would tempt fate. If it grew, she could return among her sisters and they would feast together.

When the ghost began to move again, it was with some trepidation—she had only been idle for a split second but the male was already gaining upon her position. He was much more swift than she anticipated, and it wasn't until he was fully mobile that she realized his dimensions. The strange pattern of his fur had made it difficult to see him before, but she was keen now and watching.

Against her better judgement perhaps, Sitala slowed her pace again and braced for his arrival. The fur across her shoulders had begun to raise and she was stiff-legged, positioning herself with defensive posture just in case he meant her ill. Something about the look in his eye gave her that indication, but Sitala was not afraid. She had fought with bigger men than this, and won.

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. 

He was an odd thing—an ugly thing too of poor composition. He was bold as all men ought to be, but it was the look in his eye that made Sitala more wary than usual. She was still confident in herself and knew the limits of her own body; if he came too close or tried anything, she would become a weapon.

The thought that this could be a husband to one of her children should not have entered her mind but Sitala was, to some extent, numb in her thoughts. If he proved a threat then she would savor his demise, but if he did not... No man had been so bold as to approach her in this manner, with an air of danger, and she was in a sense intrigued by it.

Hello, she drawled, with all the charm of an iceberg.

The pale woman's voice was cold as it passed her lips. Her words did not share the same warmth as her gaze, but even still the hound was captivated by the sight of her form and the gentle curves of her body. It did not matter to him how antisocial she was, or how she stood warily watching him from her position in the snow. She had returned his greeting, and so Ithrik felt that he had earned some footing in their conversation. He slunk forward a few steps and then stopped again to draw his gaze over her frame hungrily. She was not a pup, but she still smelled like a woman and it was beginning to drive him to madness.

Once, his pink tongue lashed out from the cage of rotten fangs and ran against his muzzle before it slithered back inside and sat patiently for a treat. “You have lovely eyes,” he remarked to her in the same tone – high and lilting. Goosebumps tickled his flesh underneath his black and white coat. He shuddered softly against the gentle breeze before casting a grotesque smile in her direction.

“I should like to taste them.”