What We Do In The Shadows.

Sitting on a smooth rock near the edge of a clearing, Zagan was focused on his task. His blade- a direct replica of his Father’s obsidian dagger with a serrated edge- was clutched between his paws, gleaming faintly in the morning light. All around him, sunlight filtered through the canopy of towering pines, casting long, slanted beams of gold across his pelt. The warmth felt nice compared to the crisp air of the autumn forest- a sensation that would soon be fleeting, as fall morphed into an unforgivable winter.

The rhythmic sound of him sharpening his blade against a stone echoed in the clearing- each stroke, slow, deliberate, purposeful. A symphony of repetition that was calming, and kept him focused.

He didn’t notice Sericea’s arrival until his raven pointed it out- alerting him with a croak, as its ever-watchful eyes caught sight of her bright, crimson fur. Pausing, he flicks an ear in her direction, waiting to see if she will say anything, or if she was passing by.

"Zagan Saxe"