Haunted Wood i will devour you

@Periane

the night is long. painted in the afterglow of the sunset, casting the wandering beast in the shadows of it's haunting vengeance.

his mouth is dry, his throat hoarse. he stops at a frozen stream that winds slowly through the woods. punching a thick paw through the glass, leaning a thick, scarred snout down to lap gently at the frigid waters.

he moves on, eventually. one paw after another. lumbering, drifting through the forest with no objective... till. eyes crest upon a pale woman, a dainty songbird with eyes upon something he can't yet discern. he drifts closer, and closer, until he is standing behind her.

breathing down her neck. his audible, gurgled breathing and faint wheeze an eerie chill in the night.

a prayer had been cast long in her throat; sigilisms of what god's had remained left her lips with a breathy cadence of angels amongst the shrouded doors of heaven. she was a good daughter of the lord's word, she knew this, she knew it! but it did not stop her from keeping her back against the dark woodland, eyes fluttered to a close as the hymn continued.
a vibrato shrilled down her spine. aghast!— she spun upon her feet, traipsing backward with her eyes shrunken to their fearful glower. a man, caked in shadows and slated hues, terrifying in all his nature. she thought of the apple, eden, the snake!
you frightened me! she clamored, still catching the heaves of her breaths with the strength of her chest, in and out, but she was met with no words in return.
are...are these your lands?

she is startled. erebos' silent eyes simply linger upon her face, traipsing what seemed—stoicly—over lilting nose and feminine lashes.

she speaks.

he only watches her still, an unmoving, unspeaking stone guardian. hovering like a thirsty hummingbird, wheezing like a felled stag upon his death bed of moor grass.

but he can shake his head. no. they are not his lands. when he sees the confusion lash her face, silent inquiry as to why he does not speak aloud, he lifts his head.

neck extending upwards, head and nose to the heavens. layers of thick, matted grayscale and black fur unfurling to reveal the grim scar slashing his throat.

no. she was not trespassing, then. she nodded her head, swallowing the thick, dampening lump in her throat. she felt herself be unable to speak, until she gestured to her throat. you don't...speak? maybe he was a man that preferred the resilience of commanding through actions— which...it reminded her of home, distantly.
he lifted his head in response, revealing the scar, hidden beneath layers of fur. matted, tangled. she fought the urge to bite at the mattes, to subtle them with her teeth. she swallowed again, wondering, wondering if she could be a good apostle and help, help!
is that why you wheeze? she asked, staying firm in the ground, still haunted, petrified by his disposition. like a ghost. painful?

it is clear that he understands her. that beyond the dull, convincingly dead, look in his eyes and the lack of manners he boasts, he is not dumb.

or, in some amount, he is intelligent.

those rounded, nicked ears twitch, peeling outwards to remain observant of their surroundings; but he visibly relaxes, if even a little. he likes this woman, and thinks that he should take her back to his brother. deimos would be proud of him for finding someone like her.

erebos lowers his head, not wishing for her to look upon his disgrace any longer than she should. he wishes to spare her eyes, clear in the way his nose tentatively reaches forwards; to place a kiss upon each of her eyes. an apology.

and he nods at her question. but then shakes his head. yes, it is why he wheezes. no, it is not painful. anymore.

his actions are ones that surprise her— delicate kisses placed upon her temple, two that reach the tear ducts of her eyes. she is frozen, animal caught in the hindsight of a predator. it does little to quell the fear of him before her, but if it was God's will that he touch her, she'd allow such a thing.
he confirms her questions with a yes and no. but she...she thinks he is lying! how could a wheeze be not painful? wasn't he suffering, at some degree, that made him incapable of being the roaring beast that stands before her? he could have killed her, but not without the struggle of oxygen lacking in the cavity of his chest.
she swallows. again. throat bobbing as she salivates. i will go, then, she offers him, unsure of how to proceed further. she could help him, but she doesn't even know him. a trained witch as her father scorned her, but it was God who gave her these talents!
she looks around, barren lands, but doesn't exactly make a move to leave. where would she go? there are no altars, no churches—

i will go then.

there is panic. panic in his chest. needles piercing his heart, lungs. his rebuttal is a loud breath, drawn in through his mouth and released in a nasily nose past flaring nostrils. he moves suddenly.

grabbing her by the foreleg, one of his thick paws wrapping tight about her leg; another wheezing noise shaking from his mouth, chattering within his shaking teeth, as he drags her closer.

she cannot leave. she must meet @Rhadamanthus.

there was a moment where she thought that he'd let her go. albeit fleeting, but still there. maybe it was the panic swelling in her eyes that had him grip upon her, force her to be pulled closer to him. did he see the sins in her eyes?
his wheezing breaths were all that she could hear. desperate. she glanced at his paw wrapped around her forearm— caught there, like twigs caught on delicate tufts of fur. she swallowed, again, nervously this time and looked at him.
you want me to stay? it was God's will, then, that will keep her grounded. she was a servant to man, a servant to the Order, and would not stray where her path wanted her to head so badly!

erebos loomed close, gaze steady, piercing. breath rattling, slow. his grip didn’t waver. she tensed beneath his paw, eyes wide with questions, panic simmering under the surface. he saw it all. ignored it.

you want me to stay?

a slow nod.

he released her arm but stood firm. she wasn’t going far. no gods would guide this—only him. she would follow. had to. there was another waiting.

rhadamanthus. she would meet him. she would understand.

periane’s breath steadied, though the weight of his gaze still pressed against her. she did not look away.
okay.
the word was quiet but certain. she would follow, for now. but not blindly. never blindly.
her ears flicked slightly, searching the silence before she spoke again. but i will find the others. the priestesses.
she was not meant to be alone. none of them were. she would not forget that.