Ravensblood Forest fire blood

@Ondine

The crimson of the trees had never been unsettling to the ashen-furred beast. He had hunted in those woods for his sister. He felt a familiarity thinking of his time with Mos and for only a moment his mind drifted to where she was, if she was alive. Kierke would have hoped that if she was indeed dead, he would have felt it somewhere stirring in his gut. He had traveled with his sister for the vast majority of his life. He had seen her through the worst of their lives. She had done the same for him. It would not have settled well to find out that she had lost herself on her own. More than his concern, Kierkegaard realized that he trusted his sister. She was quick and fierce and she would be able to handle whatever crossed her path.
 
Long pale legs moved with a slow deliberant nature through the dark woods. It was eerie. Far more unsettling than it had been in his previous treks through the red forest. He could recall with clarity the noises of prey and other creatures scuttling in the brush. This venture into the brush was not like it had been before. His amber gaze fell on the various rustlings of the undergrowth and the sharp snap of a twig would force his ears to stand tall on his skull, lip quivering over his canines. It was quiet. The prey had all but disappeared from the thick undergrowth that dabbled the territory. Kierkegaard could hear his steps against the earth and – only on occasion – the soft rustling of the leaves as the wind would carry through, prickling his pelt and raising bumps against his skin.
 
The fur along his neck and shoulders stood tall and jagged. His head was lowered so that he could attempt to track any existing prey in the area, though the scents of prey animals seemed to have faded from the trees and the brambles. The famine was frightening here. The ghostly male’s gut clenched tightly inside of him and he raised his head upwards, dark lips curled down.