Blackfeather Woods all trenchcoat, cigarettes, and arrogance.

The stone floor was cold; the corridors were drafty and the air shifted as if alive, tickling at the fine hairs lining his little ears. As he rubbed at his eyes, he ducked his head a little bit further and caught his ears with his forelimb, pulling and rubbing awkwardly until he heard a noise that sounded too loud. The child paused and looked alertly in the direction of the sound, more out of instinct that anything, although the white of the woman had not taken form for him. She was a haze, a misty ghost surrounded by shadow.

There came a strong smell that, at first, had him recoiling. Perhaps in response to this, the voice changed - becoming softer, more soothing. Shhh, it's all right, I'm here. I'm here. Something shifted on the ground, and the smell got stronger. The stone was slick with blood and the boy calmed a little bit, comforted by the spreading warmth. He didn't know he was crawling through a puddle of blood; the crimson looked black in the cavern, barely changing the ochre of his own coat.

The voice called to him again, urged him towards another puddle - and Sobek struggled, but managed to shove his chin against the wet puddle of chewed meat. He didn't like the feeling of it against his fur and so he squawked and punched a paw through it, slipped, struggled uselessly - but managed to somehow catch some in his mouth, and the warmth abruptly pacified him.