Adonvdo Nudade blinked sleep from his citrine colored eyes; he was not sure what had awoken him, perhaps it was the rustling of a bush or the hoot of an owl, but most likely it was that his dream had come to an end. Due to his fascination with haunting tales, his dreams usually took upon the horror he described; in his dreams the storyteller witnessed gruesome events almost every night when he closed his yellow eyes to the world. Being one of the Asgina Kanehelvsgi (Ghost Story) herd, the dark coated stallion was used to the dark images and used what he witnessed in his Di- s- gi- ti-s-di (Dreams), as the A-da-we-la-gi-s-gv or the spark for his I-di-ga-lv-la-di (Stories) to be woven on a dark and scary night.
Nothing appeared to be amiss in the shadowy forest around the stallion, the night was calm and the story coat stallion closed his bright yellow eyes to return to the world of nightmares. Within his dreams, a gravelly voice whispered a horrifying tale:
Blackness, sharp pains, then a white light. Death is not at all a rare occurrence. But mine was different, let me explain, it was not normal in anyway shape or form. The shell of my human body was taken over a limb at a time. When each appendage submitted to the creature inside of me, it would twist at odd angles, the bone cracking and breaking. The metamorphosis was hell; there is no other word to describe it. My hands bent and distorted to form paws, my once brown eyes began to glow a bright blood red. That is all I can remember from my death, the excruciating pain then the comforting blackness. My new body must have shut out the scene or my mind has forgotten, locked away in the old soul that used to be the human me.
With bloody paws and wings, I am an enigma to the human world, a mere shadow. I stalk the night, looking for souls to add to my collection. My hate emanates from my pores as I hunt, so when the kill comes it makes it all the more enjoyable. I reach out with my claws and pull the souls from the very weak human bodies. My mouth opens wide, the soul slides down my throat, filling my empty stomach. Their empty shells stand there like drones, until an orange flame engulfs them, leaving lifeless dolls in their place. Another for my collection.
Deep down in the crevices of the earth, my lair resides. Shelves are filled with the tormented dolls that lack life. Each face carved in different ranges of emotion, some are twisted in pain (those are my favorites). My day light hours are spent staring at the collection, memorizing the pain etched there for eternity. It always brings a smile to my face.
When the sun comes up, I hide. With my time I bide, waiting for the night to call and the festivities to fall. To add one more doll.
The light of the day brought the stallion out of his dark dreams, he had the dream before but it never had the narrator. Previously he had just witnessed the scenes as they flashed by him, the grotesque images of the tortured dolls and the shadowy phantasmagorias of the creature. Adonvdo Nudade shook himself of sleep and turned his gaze to the Great Sun Goddess Uelanuhi; silently he paid his respect to the Tsa-la-gi-yi (Cherokee) Goddess.
Once his mind was clear, the stallion noticed that his breath was crystallizing and a chill began to seep into his bones, “doyaditlv uyvtlv” (It is cold outside), he muttered as he chastised himself for not realizing that the ka-la a-da-nv-do (winter spirit) was only a breath away.
