Haunted Wood The voice of rage and ruin.

Tzila was a bundle of nerves. A walking shadow of pent up aggression and irritation. She was sick of biding her time, of lurking ever so patiently as she always did. She knew she mustn't cave in...not yet. The truly clever...the truly gifted, wait. Soon enough the Nightwalkers would get a serious wakeup call and cease doubting her. Call it an old habit of paranoia, stoked from the days of her youth, largely in thanks to the un-relenting antics of her fuckwit brother.

Itching for a scrap with anyone who crossed her path, regardless of if she was acquainted with them or not, she stalked through the dense maze of the forest. Her steps were silent...precise. She held her head down low between her shoulders, cat like, as she usually did when in one of her darker moods. While her cold eyes scanned ahead, she was seriously contemplating a brutal new routine of exercise. Militant style, to mold her body into a living weapon. So much easier said than done, with no end in sight for the famine spread throughout the Teekons.

She had latched on to the new scent. The one belonging to Revui, their former captive. His means of attaining his new title were lost to her as of yet, but she still remembered their solo encounter clearly. Fitting in seamlessly with the shadows...her shadows, she observed him in silence, poised atop that ledge and peering down unto the river. When he pulled back, she made her move, allowing only her head to materialize into the light. "Pity. You have a fighter’s spirit, but you let a simple barrier alter your actions." She said calmly, showing no intention of attacking, like last time. Last time he was a captive. Below her. She had done what came naturally. Put him in his place.