Fishblight Mire fiendish delight

hell had ravaged him. the echoes of wailing spirits clung to his marrow. his own maw was parted to reveal slathered jowls and drizzling canines, coated in a thick crimson paste. 

still, the ghoul pressed on. 

the glimmer of his vacant stare searched the terrain at his front. sickly though he appeared, the stygian wraith was all too well. he prowled across the mire with a wheezing hiss from the back of his throat; dark and ready to reap. 

the coywolf leaves shallow but closely-spaced footprints. the glistening teeth from the muted light illustrate a small but unchecked savagery in her. they are brighter than her eyes, which are half-closed and lacklustre. she too appeared fragile and cadaverous but often it was the starving animals who fought the most desperately.

a slow hiss escapes through the tight sphincter of her throat. it is metered. she watches the wraith with one wary eye, his gaunt reflection is warped by the curved surface of a pupil.

the mark came into focus and rattled him into a ghastly wheeze that forced wet coughs from the back of his throat. blood spattered against the earth and he passed over it without care; it was not his own, anyway. 

the female was a stunning silver with a cloak of darker grey that sat along the elegant jutting bones of her back and skull. the ghoul wondered where such a divine creature could have appeared from. he prowled forward on jagged limbs and seemed to stumble against the weight of his own haggard frame. 

there were no words, but the ghoul stepped toward her and made motion to drink in her scent.