Deepwood Weald Let these bones be the giver

well hi there :P

The revelation that he had yet another brother barely disgruntled him, did not shift a bone in his slithering body - in all truth, the reaper lacked the heart to care, but perhaps the older boy could fabricate something convenient in future moons to come. It came as no surprise that their ebony father had failed to mention others of the Svartell blood; perhaps Aries had left the coward little chance.

He kept to the shadows.

The demon's lithe body was constructed of lean muscle - a stalking, murderous assassin who kept the night as his guide, the stars as his compass; large paws forged barely a dent in the snow, ceasing to carve a clean sculpture in the ice with every step he made. He had learned long ago to mask his presence, and even now as he watched her, the killer was utterly silent. Not a whisper slipped from a forked tongue.

Until, of course, he grew weary of simply watching - what fun was the game, when the prey had no knowledge of your presence? Aries let his low baritones search across the distance between them, poisonous tendrils of darkness reaching out in anticipation, blunt and solemn. If she gave him nothing of use, he'd switch, replacing one mask with another - there were plenty to go around. Maybe he'd play with her, twist her strings, but first...

"Who are you and what do you want?"