Moonspear blood & bone

The instinct that forced him to move from the range of her snapping fangs was remarkable. He had done so without really thinking of the action, simply having gathered the signs of her target only moments before she had made her move. When the inkwell yearling stood with his crown lowered to guard his throat and the hackles along his back spiked high, he felt a flush of triumph for his momentary feat. That rush of success could only last for a moment, though. Atlas watched as the dark woman slipped from his sights and into the fog; it concealed her shape well, leaving him with one less sense.
 
Those sharp eyes would not protect him from a surprise attack. The shade moved to back himself up to stone, knowing that it would be safer to keep his rear protected from ambush. He could fortify his front, showing this with a quick curling of his lip and a flash of ivory. Without the sight, Atlas scanned the fog twice before he breathed deep and filled his senses with the aromas that existed around him. It would not be exact, he knew. It was still better than having nothing.