Bearclaw Valley moreau's golem

saving prey from their fear until the proper moment was a monumental task stigmata had been bred for. he was a ghost of smoke and dust - creeping in; filling up all the empty space with phantasmic limbs - then he was death solidified; a fearsome gargoyle sending the bunnies predictably scurrying for their burrows. but one hidey-hole had its sentinel, and when the flurry of his chase was done, he stood proud to see a rabbit dispatched by young mona's slim teeth.

his tail waved like a banner, jaws split into a panting grin. he had no words of congratulations, but his eager expression, flushed with adrenaline, showed her enough appreciation for the catch. "what would you like to do with it now, mona?" the stygian brute asked, forgetting in his fervor any reservation he might've had about using her name. it tasted sweet - in a way mimicking her candied garnet fur.