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It was a bright, clear, sunny day in the mountains. After what had seemed like a never-ending winter, the sun and warm temperatures had come out with a vengeance, leading to green grass, brightly colored flowers, and a general sense of spring contentment. As the days had lengthened, more Soquili had started to abandon their sedentary winter lifestyles in favor of a more nomadic, ambulatory lifestyle. It was a common sight, especially in the slopes, to see Soquili one had never seen before making their way up or down.

But there was one area in particular that saw little to none of this spring traffic. Even today, a warm, balmy day where the sun was shining and a gentle breeze was blowing, this one area was empty and isolated. Here, the grass mostly gave way to rocky ground; trees passed over into large, craggy rock formations that jutted haphazardly out of the hillside. Even in the brightest noon, impenetrable shadows clung to the undersides and eaves of the rocks, making a channel of caves and dark paths that remained impervious to the bright rays of day. Among those that lived in this region, this particular zone of rocks was spoken of with hushed voices, tinged with fear: for here, among the rocks, dwelt the boogeyman.

Few had actually seen him, and none had gotten a good look. The few that had passed by this way reported seeing and hearing movement in the darkness, as though some sort of massive insect was skittering about in the darkness. One witness reported seeing a gleam of teeth in the shadows, but also confessed that he hadn't taken the time to get a good look. And many, too many to count, reported hearing The Laugh: a ringing cackle, rising in pitch to a near hysterical level that would echo around the craggy area for miles. It was this laugh that cemented the denizen(s) of this rocky outcropping in firm 'Bump in the Night' territory, even in broad daylight.

Today, a lone songbird was the only sign of life in the otherwise desolate area. Swooping in lazily, the bird wheeled above the rocks, looking downwards for either a prospective meal or perch. After a short inspection, the bird spiraled in to alight on the upper edge of one of the crags.

It never got a chance to enjoy the perch. Before the bird had a chance to fold its wings or even take stock of its surroundings, there was an eruption from the darkness beneath the rock; an extension of shadow, sporting a nasty mouth of fangs that closed on the bird in the blink of an eye. It was done swiftly and silently; neither a squeak from the bird or a growl from the teeth accompanied the act that left nothing more than a bloodstain and some feathers on the rock.

Well, silently up to a point. Withdrawing back into his comfortable shadows with his prize, Bile could feel the warm trickle of blood in his mouth and taste the salty iron flavor. It was his favorite sensation in the world, blood; his only true sadness was how little blood there was to be had and how hard it was to obtain. This bird had been a taste; not enough to drink up and enjoy. Still, it was something to be enjoyed, and he made a happy noise as he crunched down the rest of the bird. Perhaps this would be a good day yet!

The bird would have been a single mouthful, had Bile not bitten it in half to better extract its blood. As it was, consuming the bird was the work of mere moments, and before he'd even licked his lips it was forgotten. Ever since his infancy, he had lived in the moment; the accident of his youth that had left his body twisted had done no favors to his brain, and the extreme isolation that had been his lot had only exacerbated those issues. His thoughts were simple and uncomplicated; action A lead to result B, ergo when he wanted result B he performed action A. Trial and error were his friends, but whatever he learned beyond the most basic of actions or lessons was quickly forgotten once it was over.

To many, it would be considered a blessing; to others, a curse. For Bile himself, it was a reality that was beyond his understanding: existential wondering had never, and would never, be his lot.

Finishing the bird, he slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, the rough scar tissue pulling in his jagged fangs. Time and repeated contact with his teeth had made his already massive tongue leathery and coated with scar tissue; it took conscious effort for him to make it bleed now. But he was tempted; the bird had gone very little ways in satiating his desire for blood.

Pressing up against the cold side of the rock, he cast his gaze all around. Nothing moved; not in his comforting shadows, or in the detested light beyond the borders. The bird appeared to have been alone, and a fluke; he would be getting no additional fun here...or would he? Narrowing his eyes, he hunched low into a splayed leg crouch, then suddenly shot off through the shadows between the rocks towards the middle reaches of his 'path of shadows'.

If anyone was close enough to observe, they likely would have been impressed and fascinated at the way in which the massive kalona moved. One of his legs was shorter than the others, and a second one had an unnatural curve in it that gave him a somewhat crabbed and hunched posture and uneven gait. However, he was able to move very swiftly in spite of his deformities, traveling swiftly along in an almost spider-like scuttle. It was well suited to the shadows and crannies that he called home!

And at the moment, he was moving up those shadows in search of something new to play with. He thought that he'd seen something up this way...

Due to the profusion of large boulders and crags in the area, at any given time of day there was a 'canal' system of shadows leading from the lowest section of boulders up to the highest cave-studded cliff side. Using this system of shadows, Bile was able to move up and down the mountainside without ever having to set a hoof in the daylight; it was the extent of the shadows that marked the edge of his territory, and his related terror at being exposed to the light that kept the rest of the region safe. As long as he was able to move about in the darkness, he was content.

Especially when he had access to prey.

His instincts had been correct. Shortly after leaving the area where he'd caught the bird, Bile had seen a much larger prey animal, and it had been all he could do to contain his glee. It wasn't often that large creatures had come into reach, but in his hazy memory he recalled that large animals meant lots of blood. Were it not for his innate knowledge that quiet was needed in order to hunt, he would have been laughing with delight at the mere sight of the animal; as it was, a wide, crazed grin crossed his mutilated face, his shattered and mis-healed jaw contributing just as much to the spectacle as his large, bright teeth.

He didn't know what sort of animal it was; the fact that it was technically the same sort of animal as him was beyond his knowledge, having never seen his own reflection; the fact that it was a dangerous type...well, that was even less known. All that he knew was that it was here, and it was big, and it would bleed.

There was just one problem, he realized as he slunk up along the far side of a large boulder. The animal was standing out in the light, completely out of his reach. Even the prospect of so much blood wasn't enough to draw him out of his comforting darkness, and the vexatious thought that something so wonderful was being denied him by being out of reach was nearly enough to drive him into a rage. As it was, he slithered from his current rock up along the ridge and back around a few surrounding rocks, trying to find a spot that would allow him to reach the prey animal without stepping into the light...with no result!

A low, menacing, and very annoyed hiss escaped him at this point; stealth was still important, but the baser instinct of expressing upset trumped any desire at being completely undetected. His fun was being denied him, and he did NOT appreciate that fact!

Having never learned how to talk or what speech even was, Bile was in no way motivated by the other Soquili's words. All that he heard was a blur of nose, nonsensical syllables that ran together without any sense. To him, it was as legible as birdsong, or the chittering of squirrels: a noise to be noted, but disregarded.

No, he was far more interested in the Soquili's actions. Rather than running off as so many other creatures did when Bile's impatience blew his cover, the prey animal not only stuck around, but got closer! All of a sudden he was no longer standing in the middle of the sunlight, firmly out of reach; now he was drawing closer to the shadows, moving along tantalizingly close. This was a challenge that Bile couldn't resist.

Drawing back from his current rock, Bile watched the pacing motions of the prey animal for a few minutes, then tensed up. The animal was moving his way, another couple more paces and he'd be within reach...because while Bile wouldn't actually abandon his shadows for any bloodsport, he was willing to lash out for a few moments. Consequently, as soon as the prey animal was within range, he struck.

One advantage of being a large animal was having a large reach. Moving rapidly, he snapped forth from behind the rock, a massive, deformed pair of jaws swiftly lunging straight at Ghostpaw's throat while the rest of him stayed safely hidden in the darkness. Now, if only he could get lucky...

Logically, Bile should be upset. After all, he'd had a great shot at the prey animal; the prey animal had stayed close, ventured right up next to the shadows, left itself wide open; it had been a perfect shot, and Bile had missed. He'd failed to get a good mouthful of flesh, feel the warm explosion of blood in his mouth and watch it pool around his hooves. Everything that he loved about the killing experience; indeed, the only thing he embraced or even understood about the killing experience was ruined.

Except that it wasn't completely ruined, and in that was his saving grace. Bile's mind was simple and uncomplicated; he tasted blood, felt it on his teeth and tongue and lips, and therefore he was happy. Within seconds of his failed bite, he had withdrawn back into the darkness from whence he'd come, burbling quietly and cheerfully to himself as he rolled the small smattering of blood around in his mouth. It was so warm and salty and delicious, full of all the things he liked but still new and different...it was wonderful.

Strange as it was to describe a homicidal monster in that way, one of the best adjectives for Bile was innocent. And when it came to finding joy in simple things, he was definitely innocent! The fact that there was anything he'd missed, that he ought still to do, or that the living owner of that blood might not appreciate his interest? Not even a blip on the radar.

Bile was so intent on savoring the taste and texture of the blood that it was only due to his well-honed instincts that he escaped complete disaster at the fangs of the skinwalker. As it was, even as he was darting sideways the prey animal's teeth met with success, drawing sharply away across the retreating side of Bile's face. It had been a long time since Bile had registered the existence of pain, so there was nothing to rouse any excitement there in the stallion; however, two things both very important caught his attention at the same time, and the resulting amazingness threatened to throw him into complete confusion. One, there was BLOOD! Lots of it, running down the side of his head and trickling tantalizingly past the corner of his mouth. The other, that the prey animal had gotten near him again, and was actually in the shadows!

He was thrilled, aquiver with excitement and desire to have what was so close. His long, snakelike tongue shot up out of his mouth, running through the pooling blood and darting back for him to relish it; but even as he was enjoying the taste, he was diving forward, ready to take another piece out of the deliciously tasty prey animal. What a great day this was turning into!

It was a stroke of bad luck, the prey animal getting away so quickly. Though blinded by bloodlust (and half by actual blood!), Bile avoided the daylight as though it burned, stopping his pursuit as rapidly as if he'd run into a wall. For a moment he stood there on the edge of the darkness, a dark, deformed mass against the equally dark shadows, his gleaming teeth and horns the only bright spots in an otherwise formless mass. Were Ghostpaw truly looking, he'd be able to make out Bile's massive size, his long, lank hair...but he only had a moment before Bile, unwilling to be exposed even in darkness, retreated back to behind the rocks.

But it wasn't a total loss. The prey animal was still nearby, and might come back again. Bile had positioned himself so that he was able to keep his good eye on the skinwalker, and in the meantime...

In the meantime, there was blood. Once more, he swept his tongue along his bloody cheek, then awkwardly raised his good wing to touch the warm rivulet. Satisfied that he was the source, he drew the bloody wing joint to his mouth and licked it off, breaking into first a low, almost-purr of pleasure that soon expanded into something more. First it became a low, long, hiss, then a hissing chuckle, then a higher-pitched chuckle, then eventually cascaded into an eerie, high-pitched cackle that bounced off the surrounding rocks and up into the hills.

Bile was so caught up in his own blood that it was a long moment before he realized that there was a new toy to play with. But it didn't take long before the smell of fresh, new blood caught his attention, breaking his focus on his own. Isolating the rat, he reached out with his tail and scooped it up, drawing it back to himself and cuddling it in an almost loving fashion. After all, it was already dead and bleeding; there was no need for rapid bites here! Instead, after a brief nuzzle, he tilted it up and popped it into his mouth, to hold and allow the blood to seep down his throat and mingle with his own.

What a nice thing to have appear!