Lost Creek Hollow soul cleave

hell was rife with the scent of the living. this was an oddity to the ghoul, for he had not yet experienced a time in which purgatory had held so many fresh bodies within it. the reaper was eager to know them - to seek them out - and to taste of their savory flesh. he had gone so long without it that his bones had begun to ache and creak. if he was not careful, the stygian creature was likely to find himself in the thick of the worst trouble he would ever know. punishment was difficult to offer in such a realm of existence. he knew that if he were to experience true misery, it would be from the hands of his master, the devil. 

a sound. 

turning sharply, the wraith caught sight of the lumbering creature, poised strongly atop a set of sturdy limbs and crafted with the finest of tools to create a thick beast. the ghoul's inkjet gaze glimmered at him in the light overhead. he blinked only once at the sight of the stranger wolf. the other had summoned his attention, and he had garnered it well enough. the ghoul did not speak, but ran a thick purple tongue along his lips and muzzle while he waited.