o dark dark dark. they all go into the dark; any

[Cthulhu]

what turns up in the dark

It is not alone.
There is another, black like Her but not-Her. It does not acknowledge that the mare is lovely, dark and solidly built. It has little capacity for beauty, its brain tends much more towards the reptilian, the need to hunt and move and live. There is another need, the one magicked into it, the need to protect Her, follow Her, but it cannot do that now, it cannot, because She is gone and it is – was – alone.
It wants to hunt, its belly feels hollow and empty but the meat is watching it and it is wary. The meat would make for a good hunt. It can smell the sweat and heat and oh it would like to hunt, to suck marrow from the bones.

Instead it tries to listen to what She said as she whispered goodbyes against its carapace. So it does not hunt, not yet, it does not tear flesh and taste blood and sink its poisoned tail into soft lovely flesh.
Instead it trills out, a birdlike chirp, meant to startle, meant to greet.

CTHULHU

reference here