Firestone Hot Springs That’s a fundamental mistake

The hellhound, surrounded in heat, now swears he’s going even more crazy then he was before. Although, he did just see a ghostly vision of his childhood savior, so could it truly get any worse? 

Now, though, he hears humming. It’s a melodic sort — a song. Tattered, spotted auds swivel as he lowers his head even with wide shoulders. Like an owl in the night, his head swivels slowly in each direction until a shimmering, pale figure is spotted through the mist. A most ethereal situation he’s caught himself in.

Pools of bloody crimson squint at the sight of this stranger. A beautiful stranger at that. With feminine curves and a smiling, perfect face. The humming ceases, but her eyes — pale blue like the shallow, crystalline waters of the ocean — are gazing right at him. Though they are cool in color, her gaze is hot and mischievous. It forces him to furrow circular brows at her approach.

Perhaps it’s his toxic masculinity that makes him raise his head and widen his stance, but either way, he decides to meet her halfway. One paw at a time, he steps leisurely out of the steaming pool with dark fur clinging to his body and dripping from his chin, chest, and legs. Thick muscle ripples beneath a soaked pelt as he stops just on the edges of the sauna water. His stance is wide and his head raise a pinch higher then his back. All while bloody orbs eye her down, making a show of taking them down her soft looking fur from her nose to her tail — which he lingers on for a long and obvious few seconds.

The hellhound doesn’t speak a word either, but he holds question in his eyes as he stares her down and waits for her next move. He can’t help but be curious and along with that, he wonders if she too is a figment of his imagination. Is she real? Or is she another sign of his declining mental health? Another sign that the sickness that is Banesteppe is taking a hold of his mind and body.

He wishes to find out.