Though once white, his feet had since become the no-color brown of the dust that clung to them. Yet he carried no smell, not of dust, not even of smoke or blood. The air felt strange here. His lips pulled away from his teeth, showing them in the darkness—it was a madman’s grin, so much like Laruku’s (no, the other) and Ahren felt it fade from his face quickly. This was not a familiar forest. Wherever he was, this place would not obey the rules he had established elsewhere.
Behind him, his shadow flickered and changed, but Ahren did not acknowledge it.
“Your Gabriel’s daughter,” he said, slinging the crossbow over his back. Bandaged arms, free, pushed his blonde hair from his face—this proved useless as they tumbled back to frame it, the singular black streak mixing against the light color aggressively. The wolf did not advance to the girl, for she was still wary and he did not wish to awaken the monsters she certainly carried. “I’m his father,” the red-eyed man explained.
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