Silver Creek Face your wall

The silence made it easy to detect the distinct sound of light steps in the slush. He’d had the feeling of being tailed for some time, but couldn’t glimpse his shadow, whatever or whomever it was. However, the monk could smell them. Fetid, rank, scented of old blood and long-festering illness. Caution was present, but not fear.

The Akita’s profile remained almost unnaturally still, except for the sudden swivel of his flame-hued ears.

“Konnichiwa; hello,” he finally spoke, still facing the solid surface before him. It was a few breaths before he finally, deliberately, lifted his stocky figure into a standing position and turned, brown-black eyes settling on the approaching stranger.

He blinked. For all intents and purposes, what crept through the forest appeared to be a preta. Lean was too understated a word - this creature was emaciated, ill, likely suffering. He placed his forepaws together and bowed his head, “What can this old monk do for you?”