Duck Lake Ravenspur

She didn't, shrugging instead. She seemed distracted, her mind somewhere else. He saw the opportunity he had, his experienced eyes focusing on her seeming lack of clarity. But, he had just spent the time and energy to rid himself of the stains and gore of his last hunt, which he said as much to her.

Cleaning myself, he said. He gestured at the paleness of his fur. My fur stains easily. He was vain in that sense. Had he been a true Melonii, with his fur black instead of the paleness from his mother's Arctic heritage, this would not be as much of an issue. But he had to keep up appearances. He had seen a few strigoi and wolf-eaters such as himself, more ghoul than the refined character of the vampire he had once met, reeking of rotting flesh. He was not that kind of monster.