Fairspell Meadow she picked wild flowers

Warning - Mature Content

Navy stretched out overhead, dampened by the thick plumes of storm clouds that stood illuminated in the light of the moon. The meadow was bathed in a dull light. It stretched across the snow like an eerie blanket; shrouded in a faded, ethereal blue. Not a sound could be heard. Nothing in the world seemed as though it could disturb the winter cloak of silence. Nothing, save for the quiet crunch of paws sinking through the snow. Each poke of his feet left a melodic trail of ground giving way beneath the dark traveler. His pitch face was held close to the snow. Sharp titian eyes darted to and fro, searching.

The scent of wolf lingered on the air. Ithrik's gut churned with voracious desire. He had withstood for long enough, and it had been too long since the fiend had tasted flesh of his kin. There was nothing more tender – nothing more sweet. The furs along his neck rose. Goosebumps gathered along his skin, and he could feel a stirring in his gut that navigated itself to his pelvis. A glazed expression had fallen on his face. He traveled onward, appearing to be lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts.