No stone unturned

Basilisk kept his steps slow and careful, mistrustful of the ground and area around them. As if expecting… something… to strike at them at any time. If that was the ground itself crumbling away, or a more tangible threat like something bursting from the ground. His mistrust spread to the spires themselves, and he kept an eye on them as well.

He felt his fur react to the strange, eerie sound that whistled through them. Ominous, like a warning. The red glow that touched every surface from the bleeding moon did not help the sense of foreboding. When Ignita pressed closer to him, he raised a paw, drawing her even closer. His companions pressed around them, watchful and wary. “Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea” he growled.


"Basilisk Fatalis"