One man's trash

The Warlord avoided the woods for the most part. He had discarded the land once the blight had claimed it. But he kept an eye, ensuring it wouldn’t cause him further use. As the days turned to months, the traces of the blight seemed to vanish. It had left its mark in dead woods, and a thinning of prey, but its initial onslaught was long gone.

He found himself today stepping through the twisting trees before he caught the scent of others. He followed the trace of it, and found… an unexpected sight. A tiny creature that resembled a fox at a glance, but scented of wolf. But that wasn’t the strange part. She dangled, struggling, from a tree branch. Held by a noose around her neck.

He approached, sniffing the air curiously, studying the stranger. She was a well torn creature, scars lingered across her scrawny body. She didn’t look like she would be worth much. Deadweight if he brought her home. There was also Yara’s absence to consider. The former slave had up and left them, and there was a lot of work to do in the den with all their growing pups. This wolf.. that leg did not look as if it would allow her to move quickly. Much harder for her to slip away…

Decided, but not fully convinced, he stepped towards her. Her neck was an easy thing for the behemoth to reach. He glanced at her bulging eyes for a moment, and then used a cat-like claw to snap the rope. She collapsed helplessly at his paws. He stood there a moment, listening to her desperately drawing in air. “Rise.” he ordered her, curious to see how mallabale she was despite her condition.


"Basilisk Fatalis"