Shadowwyn Moor vacant bodies

hell had ravaged the earth, too. at least the natural disaster that had occurred had seemed to carry a touch of torment with it. logs were ripped from the earth and strewn about in a haphazard pattern. the ghoul thought it a delightful sort of torment. 

blood had crusted along his muzzle and lips, darkening the color of his coat in those places. his sickly frame seemed to fit the terrain well enough. as the fiend prowled forward, the cries of foxes seemed to drift over the air. he too drew his crown upward and released a cry into the open stretch of land at his front. the ragged wheeze and crack of his voice was haunting. 

*waves*

Her pack had become everything for her. Though she knew they didn't like her, she fought every day for her place among them; not to prove to them that she was worthy, but to herself. Xan had a point with one of his meaner comments; if things didn't work out the way she wanted in the end, she would flee and leave them all behind. She had done it to Blackfeather Woods and she'd do it again. Though she thought of herself as a loyal creature, apparently she was only loyal to herself. It had taken some time for her to realize that.

She stalked the shadows, though where she was heading there were nearly none. This place was immune to her Brothers' intention, but mother Nature had punished the lands for it, or so it seemed. With a graceful leap of faith did she jump atop one of the many fallen logs, scanning her surroundings when the broken voice of the stranger broke through the silence. She squinted and with a hop did her feet touch the ground once more. She had come here to hunt, but the calling made it quite difficult and so she had to approach to tell him to shut the fuck up.

hello there

another dark thing had approached. the ghoul turned his skull toward her and hissed sharply into the back of his throat, forcing a strangled sound to fall from his lips. whether she wanted him to be silent or not, he was not likely to listen to any rules that she cast on him. the wraith was enduring hell; he did not need to be ordered about by a stranger. 

the dark wash of his purple tongue moved over the hairs of his muzzle and swooped back inside, collecting remnants of previous kills as it passed. the dark creature hunkered himself and then prowled toward her without caution or care for his own personal well being. the ghoul seemed to slink along on ragged limbs with a coat of greasy ink to conceal him.