Ankyra Sound [m] dirty laundry

Popping in for naturalist!

Though the beach may have been a beautiful sight, the bastard found himself at home in the wood under the great sequoia trees. The Megalith Forest was the mangy rascal's element. It's beautiful complexities sprawled before him like the pages of a book, ready to be read. Ready to pour it's secrets out to those willing to look.

The sound of the elk's cries were faint, but it was obvious to the bastard that the thing was injured. Just waiting to be taken down. The hungry wretch salivated at the thought. Food... his one true God. Though, it's blessings were hardly bountiful this winter; causing the once stocky wolf's own body to turn on him, leaving him skeletal, sickly, and gaunt. The bastard's sunken eyes laid transfixed upon the crooked trail of awkward hoof-prints before him. It's footsteps were forced, scattered, and haphazard. An easy kill. Droplets of crimson blood dotted the vegetation. So fresh. So ready.

Another cry in the silence, this time much closer. Reek's ears perked as he looked up, listening for the source. The inky-wolf and the newbie were fresh on the trail too it seemed. The more the merrier. Reek nodded to Spyridon wordlessly (though it wouldn't make any difference due to the language barrier) and pointed at the bloodtrail and hoof prints. "Close," he whispered to the two in a hushed undertone with a devilish grin. Close indeed.