Mount Apikuni these things that you're after, they can't be controlled

The night had held many things for him, and between his spindly limbs he had held something — someone — which was a feeling he had nearly come to forget.  Perhaps he would've been better that way.  He had given into the lily's desire, upon the stipulation that she let him hold her once their coupling had finished.  Beneath the bloodied moon he had sought to groom her.  He stroked the fur between her ears with his tongue, had sprawled his limbs around her spiderlike as they lay satisfied between the birches.

The morning brings with it a different a different light.  The moon is still fresh and raw.  He is hungry and emptied and tired from doting in the way that women want.  The ghoulish wretch approaches the shadow of the mountain during the early hours and does not quite make it before foriegn tongue punctuates the marrow bled morning.  One tattered ear swivels atop his narrow crown, and he jerks his head in the direction of the stranger with a low growl.  

Still some distance away, he adjusts his course.  Peering from the darkness come those too yellow eyes as he crouches, watching the man and his crow.