[PRP] Things that go "bump" in the night (Malarif & Wyrsa)

[mouselet]

Even as a Skinwalker, life could be boring.

Oh, certainly she woke each evening to hunt and terrorize the creatures of the forest, but it had been months seen she'd seen another Soquili and spoken. The last had been that pathetic excuse for a miniature version of herself with the white hide - and that had been not long after the first snowfall!

Wyrsa had snuck out into the desert to the pathetic human dwelling where Tloc lived, only to find that he and his son had gone. She had scented that Ruadh Wolfbane remained, but he appeared to be out hunting that night. Frustrated by the absence of her preferred "playmates," the Skinwalker left as secretly as she'd come.

Which brought her thoughts back to this night. Not even the bloody rabbit beneath her hooves brought her much pleasure, not when it had been so long since she tormented a soul of any intelligence. She found a craving for it deep within herself, as once she might have craved companionship - though her lip curled at the comparison.

She chewed on the rabbit, ignoring the blood staining her muzzle and pelt, and pondered how to go about finding a Soquili to...to "play" with.  

[Baneful]

Malarif hadn't thought clearly in months. Ever since that first searing step into instinct, burning away every inch of who he had once been, leaving nothing but liberating, all consuming power in its wake, he'd been running on what felt like autopilot. It made no differnce which shape he held, moving between coyote and soquili as naturally as breathing, whenever one held the greater usefulness. He killed anything that was unfortunate enough to cross his path, the kills barely satisfactory unless there was some fight to be had. The last kill he could dimly remember in the red haze of his thoughts being a young stag who had fought with every ounce of strength against the inevitability of the skinwalker bearing down upon him, the fear in his eyes as equine shifted to canine and tore the life from him.

The stench of dried blood and death clung to the pelt that was now part of him as he paused in his stride and sniffed the air, flaring his nostrils irritably as he did so, a low rumbling whinny escaping him as he found only the faintest interest in the air. Why was there so little sport to be had in this place? Weak and fleshy creatures, dumbfounded and shocked by the doom he doled out to them whenever he was given the chance. He was beginning to think more clearly now. More clearly than in months. Never clear enough to shake the instincts but clearly enough to wonder where he was, where the next interest would be found.

And clearly enough to note that of the smells he'd investigated the moment before, there was one that piqued his interest. With another growling snort, he threw himself forward in a gallop, leaping into the air as he did so, shifting into his coyote shape, resuming his charge through the forest even as he hit the ground, tossing his head back and letting out a drawn out howl, one that sounded more like a sob than a wolvish howl. It would be recognised if this was someones territory, he was sure.

Let them come.  

[mouselet]

The mare's musings were interrupted by a howl from the darkness. Normally she didn't take notice of such things...but there was something in it that struck a chord. It reminded her of an encounter she'd had after that accursed human had dared to touch her.

Back then, she'd found a Skinwalker on the other end of that howl.

Shifting to the form of a black coyote took no more thought than breathing and Wyrsa let forth a howl of her own, though her voice was rusty with disuse and sounded like something dying.

A few quick bites finished off the rabbit meat, and Wyrsa slunk into the underbrush to investigate her...guest.  

[Baneful]

Even in coyote form, Malarif had an almost tangible odour, so he rarely attempted to be stealthy, his progress through the forest noisy but forceful, well practiced muscles spooling out the meters behind him effortlessly. He'd heard the reply loud and clear and had served on his course to meet with the source of this rather interesting sound, slowing to a stroll when he was sure he had to finally be near, ears perked, grinning toothily as usual.

It was unusual to find curiosity in the place of outright hunger. He wasn't often one to play with a potential meal, but this one, for some reason, felt rather different.  

[mouselet]

The other certainly was making no effort to hide themself Wyrsa noted with disdain. Why they should choose to announce their presence to the whole forest was a mystery to her, but a part of giggled with glee at the opportunity to "play" with the stranger.

Matte black fur blended in with the darkness, and the bloodstains on her paws were hidden in grass that was finally starting to grow once more. Only Wyrsa's yellow eyes showed clearly as she stealthily slunk from bush to tree to bush again, towards the howl she'd heard. It was likely the other would know she was coming, but she preferred to examine her guest before revealing herself.  

[Baneful]

Malarif did indeed know that whoever it was who had answered his howl would be nearby or very possibly at least, on their way to this place. If they were anything like him, they'd never pass up the opportunity for some real excitement. The soft, fleshy Soquili that he seemed to terrorise so much just by existing didn't and couldn't make a sound like that. Chances were he'd managed to find a kindred cursed. This evoked no feelings of camraderie, such things were beyond his dust-seared mind, but curiosity was not so easily quelled. As soon as he found a clearing that would give him ample space to avoid being sprung upon without warning, he paused, shifting back into his more expansive equine shape, and waited, his breathing heavy from his long run to this place, but looking entirely unphased, his milky white eyes scanning the forests around him, ears flicking this way and that.

He had no concept of fear, only self preserving wariness beneath that overwhelming bloodlust. So he waited, in plain sight, aloof and indifferent.  

[mouselet]

So...he would make his stand in a clearing. The coyote slunk through the shadows, circling around the open area to take stock of her guest. Pelt and hide were both dark, though his pelt had areas that seemed greenish in the little light provided. Scars, or markings that looked much like them, were on his hide were easier to see in the dark, as were the sharp teeth of his grin. It seemed her opponent might be accustomed to combat.

Wyrsa snarled silently to herself. She would not be intimidated by a stranger! He bore hooves, as did she, so he was not of the ilk she had found the first time she had answered that fearsome howl, so many months ago.

But would it serve merely to wait and see what he would do? It was entirely possible he was possessed of as much patience as she, and such a fruitless night would ensue from proving that!

No, better to confront him, but perhaps to not speak. Yes, that would do well. The coyote stopped her measured pacing and shifted back to her horse form, pelt keeping the chill wind off her back. A moment later Wyrsa entered the clearing to stand before the stallion, watching and waiting for his next move.