Ravensblood Forest [m] salt binding

it is feverish scent that calls the bastard forwards. nostrils attuned to the smell of a woman lit by her own torment. long legs rake up the ground beneath with a quickness.

a devilish smirk upon his scarred face. nose buried to the roots and snow, sifting through, angling himself to the direction which her smell wafted.

there in the snows, a woman laid, rolling. sides heaving with breaths. behind her, a trail of disturbed ice; tired out, seeking rest. with crowell lurking, he intended the opposite of that; and down the bluffs he comes, emerging from woodland, calling with a raucous bark to the lady.

turning sideways to her as he approaches, so that she might look upon him with measuring eyes. see his worth. the muscle laying along a slender flank, the scars wrapping his body.