Silvertip Mountain thestral

laughter rolled down the hall, garbled and perhaps more chilling than dragomir’s sad howl had ever been. astara caught the flash in merrick’s gaze, the raptor poise — she too was ready. waiting. 

dragomir made his bid for the exit, fear fueled by adrenaline and determination for survival. alongside astara merrick tittered; the little wraith exchanged with him a knowing glance... but she made no attempt to stop the terrified boy as he sped past. 

too often those that were sinister had cruel plans devised for those they tormented. too often, the tormented found nothing but dehumanizing and wretched ends. astara watched for that glimmer of hope in dragomir’s eyes — he might think he had escaped if he did indeed make it to that rainy threshold.. but for astara the thrill was not in denying dragomir’s exit — it was in the profane and dogged hunt that followed. 

she would take that hope and steal it; live it, breathe it — she would be the panther that stalked quietly, present long after her quarry believed himself free of her watchful and waiting gaze.