begone, foul creature!

Fable heard the tell-tale splish-splash of another wolf moving slowly through the murky water. Her eyes flickered over, catching sight of a stranger making his way through the mangroves whose spindly roots reached like deep fingers, taking up fistfuls of earth with them. The other hunter moved confidently through the wetlands as if he was more familiar with them than she was. She watched him out of the corner of her eye and tried to match his movements, wading soundlessly through the water. They seemed to be narrowing in on the same quarry, which was good. A hunt was always easier with a partner. That was, of course, assuming that they were both hunting the doe. It was possible that his quarry still went unseen - or, more gut-churningly, that he was actually stalking her. Fable pushed the intrusive thought out of her mind. Everything since the sickness had struck her suddenly seemed far more sinister; her jovial innocence had been stripped back into suspicion and wariness.

Nevertheless, they both closed in on the doe, coming together to form a pincer-like approach. It was a classic hunting tactic that had served her well before. The doe slowed, and they were close enough now to hear it exhale painfully. This creature seemed to be afflicted with the mushroom strain, like Fable had. She could spot the fungus taking root from wounds in its shoulders and every labored step brought an exhale of spores. Taking it down while staying safe would be important. The deer stumbled on a root hidden by the water and went down quickly, submerging itself in the water. "Go!" she shouted to her mystery hunting partner, launching out at the flailing hooves that splashed around above the water.

wc: 291
twc: 796/1500