-manic mornings-
"<i>Fatman, have you ever fought a bear?</i>"
"<i>Oh yes! I have, Angel. Tore it's head clean off!"</i>"</span></li></ul></blockquote>
It had started with the trees.
Cruel, jagged lines had been carved across the trunk, and in some cases, whose sheaths of bark had been torn away.These strange wounds, oozed amber blood from the deep scars that had been gouged into the grey hide. "What the..." A wolf had not left these marks. Cautiously, Kiche drew closer to the foot of one wounded sentinel, craning his neck upwards. These battle scars were well over six feet above his head. Rearing onto his hind legs, the Hollow wolf strained upwards, but found that he could not reach them. A wolf had definitely not left these marks. Among the tallest of his kind, if Kiche could not reach them... well, there was probably no one who could. And, he puzzled as he dropped back onto four legs, giving one of his forepaws a critical look, I don't think I've got the claws for that. Wolf claws were hardly weapons at all, merely blunt hooks that aided in traction.
Then there was the blood.
"What the..." That metallic, sticky, pervasive stench wafted towards him. It clung to his fur and invaded his thoughts, until there was nothing left in this world but blood, blood, blood. A trail of red droplets stretched out from under his feet and into the heart of the forest. What choice was there but to follow? Collecting all his misgivings and scraps of courage, Kiche padded forward. The dried scarlet droplets became more frequent as he pushed onward. Eventually they all ran together, just a red river that wound through the dead leaves. The smell of blood and death was suddenly overpowering. With the greatest reluctance, the saint peered around from behind a tree.
All he could do was scream when he saw the torn and bloodied corpse and the massive demon that loomed over it.