Blackfeather Woods even the darkness has arms

The fraction of light that filtered down through the dense foliage had taken to dancing along the hound's neck and shoulders. It illuminated the lengthy white hairs that stood rigid there, offering the devil an unearthly appearance. His slinking pace would otherwise have granted him the presentation of a snake beneath the foliage of the forest floor. As it was, Ithrik moved like a shadow; he was swift and silent, and he would have completely missed the female if she had not attempted to increase her pace to pass him. Instead, his ears swiveled atop his crown to the sound of crunching earth beneath her paws and he felt his own limbs begin to slow their pace.

Almost instantly, Ithrik ceased his movement altogether and snapped his skull in the direction of the approaching female. Once he was able to latch his gaze to her frame, he felt a hunger begin to scratch in the pit of his stomach. Two fiery optics played along the curves of her body and the pale cloak that shrouded her figure. He had always been fond of white fur; a startling contrast of crimson had always made a bold statement. The hound watched for longer than was comfortable before his dark lips curled upward into an uneasy smirk.

“Hello, hello,” he whispered. A raspy chuckle escaped from his leathery lips, revealing the tips of rotten fangs before disappearing beneath his dark-haired muzzle.