Fairspell Meadow lucifer bleeds ichor

they ran, hunter, hunted; whirling through cold night as the bow of the moon rose pregnant above the chasing fields. graceful the boy before him, an arching wit that merrick could only long for. but it mattered not; he lunged in the glittering dark for the pulsing flank of the pale creature, unsure if he would miss or land his strike
snowchased, terrified; merrick savoured the other's fear and kept on with it, even as he began to lag behind the silkworm and in that knowledge, leapt a second time in an attempt to drag down his slender quarry.