Ravensblood Forest paint hell red

His blood was none of her business, and not his reason for having approached her that day. The brute was hunting for a man who had caused one of his own a great deal of harm. The similarities that he might have shared with the crass female on the seaside was not a reason to stop his hunt – she was not important enough to him to have halted his searching. Dalia was, though, and so he kept the freckled young girl in his mind as he trudged through his conversation with the voodoo woman before him.
 
She was quick to tell him that she had passed no one who matched the appearance that he had provided. The idea was frustrating, but not something that he or she could have helped. Ford drew his skull upward and peered inland a ways to see if there was a sign of the bastard that would point him where he should have gone. The skeletal titan only wished that Dalia had told him sooner than she had; he wished that he could have sunk his fangs into the throat of the pathetic weasel who had harmed her before he’d ever gotten the chance.
 
“We did not receive his name, unfortunately,” the warhound remarked to her at her inquiry. It would have made the search a great deal easier, he had imagined. “But I do appreciate your assistance.” Even if you provided me with nothing… he thought sharply to himself. Ford could not have been mad at her. He lacked all capability to hold anger for someone that he did not know for more than a few moments. Instead, he felt a great wave of indifference that had washed over him.