A day's work....

[Grayell]

Grayell had left home early this day and gone without his usual training regime. His store was hardly thriving but herbs didn't last and he needed new stock.

He'd been over much of the hillsides and creek-beds within a few miles but knew that as the season drew on, the damper forested lands would produce better stock and some much needed variety.

Having come upon a large patch of Dillweed, Grayell was on his hands and knees, pulling the herb from the ground and dropping it into his vest. It was a gorgeous day and should the weather prevail, would be quite warm. The trees here gave plenty of shade though and Grayell considered doing a spot of fishing to catch some lunch later.

Life was good. The simple things made him smile.

[Skulldon]

It grew quiet as Grayell went on. As he harvested herbs, he began to notice some rather odd footprints, wolfish, but not. They led into a small thicket.

[Grayell]

Grayell knew most every print of most every beast that inhabited these hills. Odd footprints that resembled a wolf registered in only one manner in his mind and instantly the hair on his neck and arms bristled on end. He rocked back on his haunches, his hand found his blade and ever so slowly, dragged it from it's sheath.

His senses were on fire. At any moment he expected a savage monstrosity to break from the woods and attack - but from where? His eyes scanned the thicket, then the trees, back again. He turned slowly, ever so gingerly and scanned his environment. He had been hunted too many times to not think this was a trap. How many?

His arms were shaking, adrenalin was boiling through his body; anticipation forcing him to try and think faster than any mind could. Any second....

[Skulldon]

And nothing came. The long, agonizing moments ticked by, and nothing came. The forest was deathly silent. The thicket was empty, seemingly, and footprints leading into it teasingly clear.

[Grayell]

Yakowshit.

Grayell wasn't having it. Rarely had he encountered a werewolf that set a trap, they were too strong, fast and pigheaded to be bothered with toying with their prey. This was something else. NOTHING that wasn't reckless left sign like that. He wasn't stupid enough to buy it - assuming he had it figured out.

Instead, Grayell backed into the middle of the patch, eyes still scanning his surroundings. His sword was clutched in front of him, both hands gripping it; ready to lash out with murderous intent. This wasn't right. This wasn't typical. He hadn't the time to think.

He spun once more, eyes ready to stare down death and finding nothing; barked his words.

Come out you mongrel! Make yourself known!

[Skulldon]

You know me better than most...

The voice was soft, lilting, yet sinister and growling.

I'm watching you, Grayell. Come into the thicket. Greet an...old...friend...

[Grayell]

The voice hit him like a train or magic counterpart thereof as trains hadn't been invented yet, much like gyroscopes.

Grayell's hands loosened, his sword dropping somewhat. His arms dropped and his mouth was suddenly dry. Realizing the challenge though, his brow quickly furrowed and his hands squeezed hard. He stepped forward, sword arcing back.

I expected a mongrel and I find a bitch. Step out. Step out now.

His posture betrayed his readiness to strike. It was going to take more than taunting to have him walk into someone else's terms.

[Skulldon]

The voice chuckled, retreating in the direction of the thicket.

Now now, darling...we know how this works.

[Grayell]

Grayell growled in a manner that was only just human. He spat, teeth bared as he did so. He slid his eyes to look left and right and then, slid his sword home to it's sheath as slowly as he'd drawn it.

You've got a bloody nerve wench.

It wasn't reason that moved him forward. It was a past that he'd buried, something that had torn him and left him bloodied years ago. He'd not thought of it returning, not so often as he'd thought of that voice.

Grayell shoved branches aside and walked into the thicket looking thoroughly pissed off.

[Skulldon]

Below him, the footprints turned into bloody clawmarks, leading to a corpse. It was a deer or similar creature, barely recognizable from being utterly and completely savaged. Blood and entrails were everywhere. Tacked to a tree in the middle of the thicket just above the carcass was a sign. Written on it in blood were three words.

THE BLOOD REMEMBERS

[Grayell]

Grayell looks at the murdered animal and curses, then tears down the sign. He looks around again, not pinpointing her. There was no use trying to sneak about, no point in prowling. This was her game. He wouldn't let her have him squeam though.

This is murder. There is no damned honor in this. Your quarrel is with me, bitch.

Grayell looked for further sign, he was being baited and knew not what she had planned.

[Skulldon]

Honor? Murder? Tall talk coming from a hunter.

The voice came from high above Grayell. A fox lounged on a branch nonchalantly, looking down at him with bright green eyes.

I ate from that creature. I'm a predator. It's in my nature. You, however...you hunted for sport. For revenge.

The fox seemed to smile.

Which of us is the bitch?

[Grayell]

Grayell scowled and folded his arms. He wasn't about to climb the damn tree.

An interesting viewpoint vixen. I hunt what hunts me. I hunt what has no place being. And when I hunt for food, as I do.... I don't write bloody signs to make a show of it.

You haven't lost your penchant for the dramatic I see.

His civility was jaded. He was forcing his tone but his very energy said otherwise.

[Skulldon]

And yet you fraternize with a Worgen. Charming.

The fox dropped to the ground gracefully. Once it hit the floor there was a sickening organic sound and a tall, red-haired woman walked toward Grayell, momentum unbroken. She smirked at him, her body clad in red-dyed leather, studded with spikes and weapons. She walked straight up to him and put a hand on his chest, her sharped fingernails pointing down, with no pressure behind them. She raised an eyebrow, her lips parting slightly, revealing sharped canines.

Dramatic is what I do, darling.

She paused, bringing herself closer to him.

I suppose you know what I'm here to do.

[Grayell]

Grayell lifted a hand and brushed her hand away without thought or hesitation. He sneered, without any hint of pleasure or happiness at seeing her. She was stunning as ever, but those charms had turned cold on him long ago.

Perhaps. I figured you're in heat.

He clenched his jaw, if she were the same he was about to get slapped. Hard.