Wapun Meadow that old cliché

srry i suck so bad D;

“”

The man had not ventured far from Lethe's lands on many occasions, and the breadth of Sos' most recent demand, one he did not fully recall, had laid him in his den for a day and a night. He roused himself only to succor his feeble mind with a bit of meat and another opiate, but when at last Lecter came fully awake, he was ravenous.

The weatherwitch slid out into the moonlight; icewater eyes cast roundabout him. He did not sense the nearness of Lethe's other wolves, and so he set off in search of prey or his own damnation. Scenting the spoor of a buck, the thin shaman forced himself into a brisk pace, slowing only when he caught sight of a petite, fox-hued form not far from him. He paused to watch her, nostrils registering the scent of wolf, and one of Lethe's own at that, but his eyes shouted that she was a fox. Warily, he approached.