Even wolves dream
Lupine, but perhaps not quite a wolf, a spectral creature more black and gray than brow stalks new lands. It runs quietly through a tangled wood, pausing here and there to put its nose to the wind and sniff. Prey. Must be Prey nearby. There is a path walked by sentients. All in the same direction. All the way from the bottom to the top. Here, the prey is bipedal and smells familiar. The creature grins, and its fangs glisten briefly when the lips peel back. Lower to the ground now it moves, slower, watching the flow of prey when it becomes seen. The weak ones might be traditional, the stragglers who can't keep up, but they rarely fill the inner hunger. It looks for something better, stronger. The faces and the scents are those that Emrys knows. That one there looks like Rae. That one, like Celeste. Talking to himself is a pair of Dirks. John Redhand has a woman on each arm, and a monkey on his back. Emrys's tongue rolls across the sharp edges of teeth. Slink, slink, the creature goes. He runs, then, and jumps, moving towards one of the women on John's arms with jaws already open and ready to bite into skin, to snap a spine, hopefully before the body hits the floor or John knows what's happening. That one looks like someone he should know, but it tastes like warm blood and then dissolves into air. John and the other lady turn, tsk in unison, and walk on. The monkey jabbers at Emrys, shaking its little fist. Emrys scratches its muzzle. That's clearly not right. There should be blood. There should be screaming. People should be afraid. The wolf launches at a Rae in the same manner. The Rae goes down with a scream. She's made of blood and meat, and tastes as good as she smells. Emrys stays on Rae's back, dark mouth showing fur matting where the blood was. He looks around to see if other sscream, or if it was only the victim. That inner hunger wants more. Not to fill its belly, but to hear the screams, smell the fear. Only the victim screamed, and a man with Emrys' features, a little further up the path. He battles his way back through the crowds. Emrys looks disappointed. He tears off a chunk of Rae and moves on, following the stream of humanity while mulling over a friend's taste. The human Emrys draws a sword as he pushes back through the crowd. The chunk of dead Rae melts in the mouth, not in the hand. Up at the top of the path lies a great black wolf, watching Emrys. Between its ears is the mark of a King Cobra. Emrys spies the wolf and is pleased by it. He slinks in b etween people moving towards the creature, trying to blend in as much as it can, knowing it impossible other than being lost in the press of people. The wolf stands, just like Emrys save for the mark. Emrys loses sight of him for a moment, and then sees him padding alongside the path, twenty feet away. The wolf is different; the wolf is not a biped. Emrys moves gradually towards a far edge, then back in, moving in and out until he's ready. Ten feet. Seven. There is no attempt to talk; Emrys launches himself at the King Cobra Wolf. As Emrys makes contact with the strange wolf, the thing warps and changes. There is growling and teeth and wolfish claws to rend at fur and both take such hits. It's unclear who might win, until the end when the Wolf With the Markings has Emrys by the throat. It's not black anymore, this strange wolf. It has Faelin's colorings; Faelin's eyes, and its jaws are closing slowly. Not in demand for submission, but in toying with its next meal. And somewhere, in the distance, Benedict is in a toga, giving the Thumbs Down to order the kill. The wolf that is now Faelin chuckles, and then it sees Benedict, and squeals in terror, and the whole dream dissolves, leaving Emrys with the taste of someone else's terror, and the image of Benedict's blade coming down like the mercy of angels towards him.