Serpent Lake Souffrir le Martyre

That inky head came to a sharp tilt, dulled only by the spring of soft fur. It could almost distract from those lifeless dead eyes floating above stilt legs. Ghostly, they stayed upon his figure and bore through the holes that she decided to drill into the mans soul. Those hackles lifted up into an eerie flare that cut sharp in the wind, and then fell once more to a delicate smoothness over the woman's spine. Her tail curved curiously.

Another question now.

"Is He bothered?"

An observation came to her and was spoken mindlessly, as if it could confirm further that thought.

"He is thinking."