Otter Creek burn the streets

for @Reif

the spectre follows scarab again, making it's haunting appearance so often these days that scarab wonders if the lingering omen was the price of his recovery, of his health. perhaps, he thinks, he's escaped death too many times and death sent a reaper to monitor him. or perhaps it is the phantom of the wolf whose flesh he consumed ...either seems pretty logical to the haunted golden prince who employs his very best efforts to ignore the illusionary phantom that stays close to his side.

the afternoon was chilly and cloudy, the sun playing a ceaseless game of hide'n'seek behind the thick grey clouds drifting overhead. scarab set out of blackfeather woods in search of things to add to his menagerie now that he's found himself settled and found a place deep in the belly of the forest — the underworld of it to be exact ( though, oddly he does not fear the tunnels beneath the forest as he probably should've ) — he'd like to utilize for his new menagerie. with his petrified sandpiper tucked safely in the stalagmites that rise from the cave floor like teeth from a massive beast he does not fret over it's welfare.

he thinks a few colorful rocks might be a good place to start and keeps 'rocks' firmly in the forefront of his mind as he reaches the bank of the otter creek, determined to ignore the haunting vision that walks atop the creek's cold surface, stopping and turning to face scarab so that its ember glow gaze can burn thru him.

nanowrimo: 261