Twisted Slough An isle of flightless birds

He couldn't keep it up for long but it didn't matter, Tywyll didn't anticipate that he'd catch anything. He was mostly chasing the geese for the fun of the ensuing chaos. His snapping teeth barely touched their gossamer feathers although the younger birds seemed quite terrified - it thrilled him, all of it. If he could make everyone run like hell (not just these stupid birds) he imagined it would feel very, very good. Tywyll wasn't a sociopath but the thought was a little bit psychotic, not that the youth noticed. He pictured all the other kids running from him and squalling like these stupid birds and felt tremendously powerfuly — then, the stranger watching him spoke. Her voice was so different from the sound of the geese as well as his heavy breathing, his thrumming pulse, that it was easy to detect.

His ears pivoted first, then his head swiveled as he looked for her. She was - well, kind of pretty, but very different from what he was used to. The blonde tones of her coat reminded him of Niamh but she had darker points, and so far Tywyll didn't know anyone composed quite like that. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was his own immaturity, but Tywyll couldn't tell her age - not that it was important. He sauntered closer, stopping a wolf-length away or so, and after a second he blurted, Whaddup. Where'd you come from? Was she here for the birds? You don't wanna eat these things, do ya? They smell like garbage. His face scrunched at the mention of their many disgusting qualities, nose-blind to the fact he smelled just like the ground they'd been squatting on for however long.