The Bracken Woods burn the witch

he had narrowly escaped wolf-teeth, but not without a wound. the snake priestess had hurt him, and memnoch had only escaped infection by wandering fecklessly into mud. now he wore it smeared, his snowy coat all but obscured. little food to be found; his last meal had been a handful of days ago, and now the prophet muttered a curse into the choked air.
the glint of piggish eyes did not go unnoticed; memnoch regarded the boar with a contemptuous stare as he wandered limpingly into its presence. not prey, not predator; what was this beast but an equal. 
"be ye without belief?" memnoch demanded, hoping this was not yet another violent heathen.