Phantom Hollow for the night is dark and full of terrors

setting this at night for *dramatic effect* lmao and SOSORRYFORTHEWAIT :Ɑ @Phaedra

He hunts at night now, to avoid the peering eyes of those who may notice him at day. Vaati simply doesn't know what to expect, and admittedly, has become somewhat paranoid in regard to what lays outside the secure confines of the dark woods. True, the woods itself is more deadly than the outside will ever be but at least he knows what to expect rather than walk outside the borders in a frenzied anticipation for an attack that will never come. At least at night, he is somewhat hidden from those who would like to see him dead. It is not that he fears death itself, but it is simply not his time, and he feels it. He is not meant to die by the likes of the three raven-haired wraiths, and with the events to come regarding his mother's mysterious and rather questionable pregnancy, he knows he is needed more than ever. 

With a hare strung dead in his jaws, he lopes quietly and steadily back in the direction of the dark woods, traveling soundlessly through the shadows that he was born accustomed to. It is only natural that he does so; very little traces of sunlight ever make it through the thick overhang of entangled branches and leaves of Blackfeather Woods, casting an eerie darkness upon all whole inhabit the forest. Eventually, those all inside become one with the silence and the shadows, and none is quite the same as they were ever again. Even if one does escape, the very essence of the endarkened woods seems to hang upon one's mind, body and soul, haunting the being until he simply chooses to embrace it. Perhaps his tale is dramatized, but as he moves powerfully yet glidingly through the night, it is evident that being raised in the dark is more an advantage than a fault. He knows outsiders will never see it that way, surely the reason why so many shudder and avoid their borders altogether. It takes a strong mind and an even stronger soul to withstand the woods, and he wonders if that is the reason the woods looses more members than it gains.

phaedra is currently still covered in raven blood and has some big raven feathers poking out here and there, haha.

it is quiet except for the crunch of leaves beneath her paws.  even the moonlight dares not to penetrate from the shielding canopy above, and the wisp feels almost out of place as she weaves between the thick trunks before her.

the scent of blood is what draws her, of course.  she is pining, hungry, and pervious attempts to feed herself have all failed — except for what she has been able to beg from strangers or the leftovers she could scavenge. in a fit of hunger and pent-up fury, she has mutilated her front legs again as well.

she continues through the brush, nearing closer until those too-big ears catch the near silent footfalls of another; the bloodsmell getting closer as well.  perhaps she should not try again, she muses, individuals have not been too keen on sharing with her.

her indecision causes her to pause, and preoccupied by her own thought she loses track of the other, unaware of just how obvious she is.