Ravensblood Forest blood splatter in the air

For @Maud

Soaked from head to toe, he powers on; nature shows no mercy. The strong prevail, the weak perish. A lesson learned at too early an age, it is a fact that the Wayfarer lives by. Each breath is puffed, visible in the chilled air, and mixed with the unending snowfall. Skies darkened to a gloomy grey.

Away he goes from the wild waves, crashing ashore on their mission to grasp any unsuspecting foe. Storms often followed the Wayfarer, and his first tastes of freedom are no different. Wind-whipped hair stands spiked across his back and spine, ears pointing forward with the intensity of his champagne eyes focused ahead.

The trees here bleed, an eerie and haunting sight that reminds the Wayfarer of the nightmare he remains in.

After her clash with the white mountain dogs, she stubbornly continued north. Eventually, she wound up in a strange dark forest with bleeding trees. Maud had never seen anything like this before, and she wondered why they bled — though she wasn't naive enough to believe it was true blood like what coursed through the veins of fauna. Nonetheless, it made for an eerie ambience.

She sniffed a hardened bead trapped in time on the trunk of a tree. It smelled... foreign, difficult to describe. Her palate wasn't designed to taste sweetness, for she was a creature who feasted solely on the flesh and bones of lesser beings. But Maud was used to being unable to label things, so it bothered her none. She moved on in search of a suitable napping spot. What she found instead made her mood sour: wolf. Still licking her wounds from her previous run-in with dogs, the feline had no intention of instigating him. Unsure of what he wanted to do, she stood rigidly in place and stared him down, tail tip flicking irritably behind her. Even if this interaction went poorly, she refused to turn tail and run from a lone dog (at least, not until giving him a few new holes). That being said, Maud was not in a fighting mood today.

It is different this time, however, for he isn’t alone within the nightmare; staring him down is a feline figure he’s never quite encountered before. The posture rigid, dominance seeping from the challenging glare. Not one to back down himself, the Wayfarer’s intensity grows; his champagne eyes locks with the mountain lion—tail rising to stand high.

Lips curl back, displaying fangs still pearly white—yet to be stained despite the soldier’s training. He steps forward, broad shoulders pushing forth to bolster his chest, covered already by dense fur. Head, however, remains lifted, to show his own dominance and hopefully scare the cat off.

He put on a show to try and intimidate her, but Maud only pushed back with her own. A growl bubbled in her throat as she brandished her own superior fangs, ears flattening against her skull. She feared no dog. Stubborn as she was, she gave him the opportunity to retreat, himself — though she knew he was too full of himself to take it. Claws unsheathed, she braced herself for a fight, tail lashing like a cracked whip.

Fresh with no battle wounds himself, the Wayfarer thinks he has the advantage against the large feline. The goal is to chase her off, to make her existing injuries worse if need be. He stands his ground, growling back in an answer to her own. His tail remains held high, and the Wayfarer makes a move with the whip of hers.

Charging forth, he aims for the lioness’ wounded side—perhaps obvious but she would no doubt favor it, yes? Should he be successful, he would barrel his weight into her with agape jaws going for the top of her spine to latch, rip and tear.