Grimoire’s jaw froze while her nose tickled with a rather distinct aroma. It was sour and heavy, like air on a humid day. Decay. Her ears pivoted to locate the shambling undead. Then, her head rose while the hackles of her shoulders bristled. She was a haunted soul, but she’d never been assaulted in the tangible world before. Her eyes rested first on the empty eye sockets of the giant rodent. Its skin clung poorly to the skeleton and it swarmed with black flies. Shifting only her eyes, Grimoire focused second on the master of the dead. He was an impressive creature. Few wolves could match him in size and he was wellformed; handsome and dark. Her expressionless, tired gaze caused her eyes to flicker around the area, searching for what kept him when he appeared so bored. Maybe… Was he waiting to reap the soul of Weak Wolf?

When he chose to remain a figure of the shadows, her red tinged ears twitched, and she lowered her head again, though her eyes remained trained on the behemoth staring at her. Her skin crawled. Death was watching her. Primitive instincts caused her to be repelled by him, but her mind full of phantoms couldn’t look away. Like Wraith, he was a manifestation of a nightmare. Her heart thudded rhythmically in its cavern; her addiction to adrenaline fueled by the silent observation of the pallbearer. Grimoire finished swallowing the spaghetti mush in her mouth before pulling another bite from the carcass.

She nearly choked on the mouthful when a little twat scared the hairs off her when she came bursting through the undergrowth, all full of criticism. Grimoire tracked her with her ears forward and her eyes as round a puppy discovering how to chase rabbits. A moment of silence passed, Grimoire swallowed, and then licked her lips.

She liked this fiery little female. Who could shout at Death so vehemently? At the very least, she asked questions first despite them being… well, accusatory rather than objective. It was a place to begin, though. Grimoire was eager to see how far the female could or had raked her claws into her saintly beliefs.


”No. I am preforming an essential function of nature. Do you know what function that is?”

Her tail flicked in patient consideration, wondering how clever the smaller female really was? Maybe, like Grimoire on a hunting, she was driven more my impulse than logic. Such a mindset would be very difficult to instruct.