Moonspear The Creature From the Black Lagoon

A ghost walked among them.

His intent had been to mingle with Hydra along her patrol, but it would seem that she presently entertained a company of a different kind. A company that upon witnessing, the recognition had come for him with a dagger to thrust deep into his chest. In the hole that made a sense of overwhelming dread filled a considerable void, and he had abandoned any present commitment or thought in what he would do.

Dirge instead followed them from afar, staying deep and close to the thickest of timber and weed, ever mindful of where he stepped or how he tread through still, deep waters. They were not difficult to track by any means; his ears strained to hear their words but he could not, and was forced to study their body languages. Hydra, with her intrigue—and she, that ghostly sister he had left behind so many years ago, seemed comfortable in the company of his viperous wife.

When joy seemed to erupt between them, he reached an impasse and subsequently a clear way of following them. It was there that the trees began to thin along his own path and the water a touch too deep to suit him to follow quietly, even at a distance. He had to relent, to settle to watch them move on—it felt conspirative to him, if only for a moment, to think that perhaps Hydra had known he would be trailing and had chosen the route she had.

But the rain did not care nor make sense of how they wanted things.

He would have to wait to see what became of this.

a cameo post