Some among the Blighted might haunt the Settlement, hunting in familiar territory and stalking those they had once known knew among the stone dwellings and night shadows. Jigano had forsaken the place entirely in his transformation, however, slinking among the wild places and seeking in particular those who thought to try their hands at a little unseasonal gardening. Dainty white paws padded soundlessly over the snow, even the faint trace of his passing swept away by the brush of his tail as he made his way through the underbrush, white-on-white except for the blackness in his eyes and the tarry streaks on his chin. Others of his kind might have reveled in their blood and filth, but this blight-beast was small rather than strong, and relied on stealth to sneak up on his prey. His thoughts were not his own, sunk entirely into rabid animality, but he was clever enough even in the depths of his madness to clean the blood and blackness from his fur so that he could better blend in with the snow that lay over everything in the world, the cold without finally a match for the cold within.
The white fox came across a scent that was vaguely familiar, though one he might have ignored had it not been twined with the loathsome stench of the wretched Roses. Those had him drawing his lips back in a silent snarl, his attention focused completely on the trail being left so conveniently for him to follow.
It was less conscious thought than instinct that had him striking out beneath the boughs of the Wildwood, an animal's mind providing little purchase for the living forest's tricks to turn and confuse. He wanted blood. He wanted destruction. And he would find both soon enough as a red brush finally came into view, bright fur a flag against the snow.
This was no manticore, nor giant eagle of gold. This was a small fox, a coward. Easy prey, to the blightbeast's vague and drifting memories, and it wasted no time in clever stratagems or ambushes. Gathering lean muscles, he launched himself at Ianto, racing across the snow to try and pounce upon the other fox with jaws that leaked black and eyes that shone with madness.
The white fox came across a scent that was vaguely familiar, though one he might have ignored had it not been twined with the loathsome stench of the wretched Roses. Those had him drawing his lips back in a silent snarl, his attention focused completely on the trail being left so conveniently for him to follow.
It was less conscious thought than instinct that had him striking out beneath the boughs of the Wildwood, an animal's mind providing little purchase for the living forest's tricks to turn and confuse. He wanted blood. He wanted destruction. And he would find both soon enough as a red brush finally came into view, bright fur a flag against the snow.
This was no manticore, nor giant eagle of gold. This was a small fox, a coward. Easy prey, to the blightbeast's vague and drifting memories, and it wasted no time in clever stratagems or ambushes. Gathering lean muscles, he launched himself at Ianto, racing across the snow to try and pounce upon the other fox with jaws that leaked black and eyes that shone with madness.
