Shadow Mountain dig so deep for scars

He spoke in riddles, and the meaning was warped in her own head - words, words... actions were better than words. Her legs were tiring of standing still, and the nightstalker flicked an ebony tail at him - "We ought to get moving, yes? The sooner we begin, the better?" She would ride along, see where this distorted trail led her; that was, after all, her favoured way.

"Are you hungry, traveller? Perhaps we ought to feed." Oh yes, her stomach rumbled and mouth watered at the thought: rusty, salted crimson to dribble over her tongue, the tearing of flesh and the satiation of ravenous, gut-wrenching hunger - surely she was not alone in this malicious daydreaming?

Her rugged consort must be starving.