throw a dog a bone; gryffen

[Femur]

I love the way you rake my skin, I feel the hate you place inside.

Few would know it, but she haunts the wood.

Invisible as usual, she can stalk them and all they see is a fanged grin if there is even that to see. Because at times, she cloaks even her sly smiling mouth and lurks, sometimes in light and sometimes in shadow, and sometimes giving them just the barest glimpse of a small horse that might have just been there. There are those few that open their senses so that they can smell her, or hear her but most attribute a fallen branch breaking to the eeriness of the forest despite the ghost-girl’s laughter that floats through it, disembodied and soft.

The forest is not all bad though, and she often hangs out near a charred bit of earth and ash that once held a mighty oak in its place. This is her favorite spot to haunt because it is where he found her, called her ghost-girl and made her his in a way that she never thought someone could make her theirs. Possession is an odd thing but she likes it, feeds from it as if it was the richest fruit on the earth - maybe even that elusive forbidden apple, and in her feast, she grows fat and happy on how he responds to her and she to him, predator and prey. For a moment, her grinning mouth is visible then gone as quick as it had come.

And there, in her part of the wood that she claims as hers and haunts from sunup to sundown, comes a pale stallion with a light lordly stalk as if he owns the place. As if every branch should break apart from him and the moss should cower back from his step. He is not familiar to her but then, none of them ever are and she thinks not of mischief as she looks at him as she would others, teasing them from inside the cocoon of her invisibility until they thought themselves mad and bewitched - his face warns against it, brooding and ruby-eyed. Still, Femur is intrigued and she follows him on quiet unseen feet until there comes a point when he seems to sense her and she stops.

It is as he looks around him, that she can see a tremor go through him as if he is losing patience by the minute. Was he expecting someone? Are they late? She is curious and that has ever been her downfall according to her mother. Too late for mother’s warnings now, she is stepping around him until she is almost face to face with him but still invisible. If he’s smart, he’ll smell her especially as she blows out a warm breath onto his nose and backs up a pace or two, curious to see how he’ll react.

Femur