Ravensblood Forest Drink my blood, Police Girl

They bled. As if they had a heart to beat, and red through their veins, the trees bled. In ignorance, the soldier found no bliss. Instead, fear throttled his heart and Æthelwulf struggled to breathe past the bile rising in his throat. War stained his mind the color of decay, and no matter how desperately he pushed the memories away, they came to torment him sometime or another. As if trauma were some sort of demon that could, in itself, lust for pain - a voice purred sweet bedevils into his ears.

Young knight, it murmured. Where are you, now that they need you?

He bared his teeth to the threats only he could hear in a futile attempt to ward away what didn't exist. What a broken man it took to be thrust into turmoil at the sight of tree sap. So endlessly wrapped in his past was he that the River child didn't notice the approach of another until they were nearly upon him. Wild eyes swung to regard the stranger, blended with the shadows as though they were one in the same. The night was a fitting time to meet such a beast: what was moonlight, if not the spotlight for devils?

Æthelwulf was in a piss poor mood for company. He expressed his apprehension with a voice so quiet, the gentle breeze threatened to carry it away.

"I know so few awake at this hour with pure intentions," as he spoke, something told him this stranger was not one of the few. He was often wrong, though, and he waited with baited hopes to be proven so again.