Herbalists' Cache muradoii

The last of them came slowly, and with much strain, biding her time, perhaps.

On this day, the depths of hell emptied, and the devils were brought to earth. It was an irony that even muradoii hunters began as the same helpless, vulnerable little things, squealing and shifting about through the belly fur of their mothers. Seeking for warmth, seeking for love.

When this one came to meet the cold air of new spring, the shock of it all left a confused silence, a little body wordlessly mouthing for air, instinct the only sense to rely on. Was it instinct then that drove her to scream with what little noise newborn lungs could muster? This warbled, broken cry. She would not know there were teeth primed to kill if she hadn't.

Cruelty, indifference, violence; Muradoii. Absent in the hearts of nature's most innocent.

For now.