Flatter land stretched out. Ithrik followed the trail of the river upstream. The spindly fiend trotted at an even pace. The white fur along his shoulders and neck stood upward, spiking just so that it afforded him a bit of a ghastly appearance. The hound cared very little for how he appeared, as long as his limbs carried him through and he was capable of catching his next meal. A small herd of bison clopped their way about. He paid them very little mind; they were not his favored meal and he was not nearly skilled enough to down one alone.

Just as this thought trickled through his mind, the devil caught sight of a striking reddish figure. Her body moved and swayed in a tantalizing fashion. She seemed as though she was trained on the white bison that was mixed in with the herd. His titian gaze followed her to the mark for a moment before he decided to quickly scurry behind her.

Ithrik's long legs allowed him to close space without exerting any effort. His dark lips had gathered a trail of drool. With an inky mask held low to the earth, he stalked his prey and dreamed of what she would taste like. Her red hue made her even more enthralling. She would taste sapid and savory; he relished her perfume as he hunted her up the river.

Red's attention fell from the ghostly bison. Her gaze swung back to meet his loping steps. He could see her calculating him, trying to determine what he meant by his swift approach. It did not take long for the discomfort to find her. Ithrik breathed heavily so that he could exist in it; he wanted to remember the fragrance of her fear for as long as he could. The moments before death were always so significant. It was the easiest part to forget in the heat of the hunt. The devil would be sure not to allow this one to slip too far away from him.

She turned to run; her legs churned to leave him as quickly as they could. As soon as she fled, his body jerked forward and he snapped his jaws, missing her by a russet hair. His stilt-like limbs did not fail him, though. Ithrik plunged himself into a speedy pursuit. His breath rose from his nose and mouth in heavy plumes that floated overhead. Already, he could savor the precise seconds his teeth would close around her throat.

Winter afforded him so much. While others were starved and worn by the harsh clutch of frigid snow, Ithrik thrived. He thrived only because he could prey on more than deer and rabbits. He thrived because he could prey on them. With each beat of his paws against the earth, he could feel her growing weaker and it churned the fire within his stomach. His throat created a sharp growl that slipped past his lips and struck the back of the girl's body. Surely, she could feel his breath heave against her rear.

As her pace slowed, Ithrik too allowed for his long limbs to break as well. He did not want to expend a majority of his energy in the pursuit. He wished to save all that remained for the ravaging of her body. The fiend shuddered at the thought. To sink his rotten fangs into her plump rear would be so thrilling – so deliciously thrilling.

Lurching forward, Ithrik extended his muzzle toward her and snapped it shut, hoping that he would grasp something lush. He itched for the gratification of her blood against his long tongue. Every fiber of his body ached to stroke her red body and rip it apart so that he could see every vital organ that made her tick.

The red woman fell, tumbling to the earth in a gruff sound that brought a peculiar satisfaction to the devil's heart. He found his mark in her rump and he relished the break of her skin. Blood trickled onto the length of his tongue. Ithrik moaned, ignoring her pleas for a reason. They were always so concerned with why.

“Why, why, why,” he mimicked her in a neutral tone. His voice was high and melodic. It slithered from his lips like a curled rattlesnake, poised to strike. Ithrik was not interested in killing her immediately; no. He wished to beat her, tenderize her meat so that it slid down his gullet easier. The softer her parts, the better she would taste. The red girl was close to hysterics. Ithrik wished to take a piece of her now, in her most heightened state of terror.

The devil moved forward and positioned himself over top of her. His front legs were firmly planted on either side of her shoulders as he stared into her face. Without pulling his gaze away, the fiend lowered his rear and pissed all over her lower half. His breath blew into her face in heavy plumes.

“Are you a virgin?” he hissed.

”I have asked you a question,” the fiend snapped at her. She was attempting to flee from his looming shape. Ithrik was not pleased with this. His eyes followed her. He studied her tactfully, as he would a prey creature before the kill. With each passing moment, the devil was growing tired of waiting. 

As the red girl narrowly limped out from beneath him, he leaned forward in a sweeping move and opened his jaws wide. His aim was for her tail. He would intend to latch tight to her and pull her back into place. She had no business attempting to flee from his presence. Ithrik would not allow for it. The girl was trapped, and though she tried to fight her way out, she would not be leaving without offering a piece of her body to him. He would take it whether she wished it or not. A possessive growl echoed from within the chambers of his chest. His eyes were alight with the thrill of the capture. 

Nasty yellow fangs sunk deep into the flesh of the girl's tail. He reveled in the taste of her blood on his tongue and he yanked to pull her closer. Her cries were drowned out by the pounding of adrenaline inside of his skull. Ithrik could not have been any more enthralled with this pursuit and the satisfaction of sinking his teeth into something that he longed so dearly for. Each time she pulled herself forward, he drilled his rotten fangs into her tail – deeper and deeper, until there was a sickening pop and crunch that sounded in the air around them. Suddenly, the tension had been released. For a moment, the devil wondered if he had succeeded in leashing her back to him.

The scrambling of paws was all that he heard until Ithrik lifted his crown upward and watched the child flee into the woods. Her steps were labored and she stumbled forward, but forward she did go. His burning gaze followed her out of sight and when she was gone, he dropped his trophy into the dirt at his feet and sighed quietly. In his mind, he replayed the sounds of her sobs and the begging gasps for a reason why. Satisfaction filled his riled gut. He bent his neck to lick at the blood toward the base of her tail. His own flesh seemed to raise with elation and his limber frame shuddered with pleasure.

After having waited a short time to see if any others would pass through the scene, the vile hound clutched the tail between his fangs and turned away. He darted into the wilderness on lengthy limbs, disappearing from the site without a second thought or a care. Not until he had spaced out the distance between where he loped casually and where the attack had taken place did he think about his victim and how he wished to taste her again.