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Cool~ Then let’s set it to the 4th ^=^
The blood of the killed was still upon his cruel jaws. A tongue flickered out to clean his maw of that wretched thing’s blood. Like a snake he tasted the air before he rid himself of the disgusting blood. His maw lowered to his front paws that had been spattered by the pulsing spray of the neck. Mirthless laughter rang mockingly in his hollow soul. It had been easy to kill. And the Dahlian thing deserved much worse, but he had been merciful for his daughter. He should have suffered for marking his face. The lighter male had shown great insolence, and such a thing desired to be responded with violence. The dead thing had brought it upon himself, and the ground had been showered with his blood. The pied brute sneered. The raged call of that his daughter had expelled into the air had not been missed. Finally he had provoked her, brought forth the rage and fear. The brute’s lips twitched. It would not be long from now—he knew it as surely as the Fates did. The causality of the world was already throwing her at him. It was inevitable.
Corvus raised his head from his paws. The wind knelt before him, bringing to him the scent of another. It was unfamiliar, but the recognizable stench of Dahlia de Mai was imbedded within it. That sneer tugged at his black lips. How foolish. Fluidly he rose and passed into the night, his silent steps trailed by the sniveling shadows that tugged fearfully at his fur. And he disregarded them. His erected posture was as if he ruled this place, as if these were his woods. And for that night, in his presence, the woods bowed before him and betrayed the presence of that other. These creatures—their trust was placed in all things. Their foolishness would be made manifest, just as the Dahlian’s had been made. He was dead. That was what weakness did. It called Death to the heels, and those jaws, like the jaws of the crow wolf, were merciless.
He paused, the black ears erected. There—he could hear it moving, running, could smell the fear infesting the air, the sorrow raining upon the earth. Then he through himself into motion, suddenly at break-neck speed, flitting through the forest like a black comet. He sought to intercept her—he would stop her. She would not reach her destination. With that terrible strength, with that insurmountable control, the brute stopped, a wall of stone raised in her path as an inescapable obstacle. Perhaps she would see him, perhaps she wouldn’t. But in the end she would be made to stop. He simply stood there, that sinewed body perpendicular to her path. His head turned slowly to watch her, those fathomless eyes seeking hers, seeking to pierce her soul, to ensnare it. To taint it. “Going somewhere?” That emotionless tenor soothed her, his sharp, dangerous words wrapped in a shroud of that black, comforting darkness.