well it wasn't me

It was a hot and muggy night, the air so thick it felt as though it was clogging Hattori's airways. A problem with being so far south, he supposed. That the blazing hot summers in Ashen were nothing compared to this, seemed cool and breezy, with the ocean air doing wonders to soften the sweltering blow. And yet the heat barely even factored into Hattori's intense focus as he stood there, statue still, surrounded by ancient oaks. Older than anything natural he'd ever seen.

The steady dripping of blood filled his ears, sinking into the bone dry earth as his gaze followed its descent. It was...a mess, putting it lightly.

What used to be a wolf, swayed as it hung above him off a gnarled branch. It's throat ripped open from one side to the next, the gaping hole hooked over the tip of the branch, like someone had hooked their coat on the back of a door with its hood open. Stretched out, limbs dangling and still fresh.

He couldn't say he recognised them, but how was he supposed to when they were like this? Misshapen and wrong, only recognisable as a wolf due to their smell and lingering wolfen features. How had it even come to this? He didn't see any other signs of injury, and how had a creature been strong enough to lynch them up like this? Whoever he was, even Hattori recognised they didn't deserve such a fate. No one did.

If nothing else he ought to get them down and bury them properly. Give them some sort of dignity before he started to look for a trail, see if their murderer was still lurking around.