@floruitoids / starter call
Hunting at night was her preferred pastime - it made her feel powerful, to weave through the grass and trees under the light of the moon and not Spirale’s sputtering sun. But more importantly, it made her feel safe. She let the darkness cloak her like a pelt she wore long ago, guided only by instinct and hunger. The chafing of chains reminds her she isn’t entirely free, but she had learned how to ignore how they dug into her skin with each practiced movement. Fenrir’s scarlet gaze was lit only by the moonlight, and she thought she was alone with the sound of her own breath and game in the bushes, until -
She gives a snarl, whirling around when she suddenly senses another in the vicinity. A mortal, perhaps? Though they smelled different than any mewling whelp she had come across - they smelled of something foreign, sinister, even. Something also hungry and angry, blood boiling beneath its surface. When she had her powers, she had little reason to be scared of anything in the skies but she’s on her guard, ready to fight or flee depending on what sort of creature unveiled itself.
