;Trees flash by, pillars of darkness in the fog. Before him they are spectors looming fast in his path to be swiftly dodged as the boy tears reckless though the endless succession of black trunks. He pulls the ground toward him, pushes himself away from it, his strides accompanied by the rhythmic sound of his locomotive breathing. There is little other sound than this because the creature that pursues him, that waits for him, makes no sound at all.
Misfit leaps a fallen trunk moonlight striping his grullo skin with thick bars. He lands in the leaf litter but does not slip or stall. He is a terror among these ancient redwoods, careless, fierce. Half grown and entirely wild, called to heel by his mother alone (Ether by extension, and barely, but to disobey his stepfather would be to disappoint his dam). The Taiga has been a perfect battleground for the children of his family, though not all of them are terrors the two most likely to make trouble have a vast wilderness in which to do it.
Fog marches on, whorls around him like smoke as each fluid step pushes him on. His mistake is failing to notice when the ephemeral mist twisting around his limbs turns turns from ghostly to black. The darkness before him grows to be, not a tree, but a vast impenetrable blackness that is suddenly everywhere and impossible to recoil from.
Misfit drops his cobalt hocks and whirls back, his blue mane flying into his face. He knows without looking that he cannot return the way he came, that the blackness will be there like a shroud before his eyes. A snort erupts from amongst the quieting breaths as he acclimates to stillness, frustrated, amused. Here in the dark, ordinary boy, but he has long since forgotten fear of the shadows. Its disappointing to be caught, but this is just the beginning of another game. His head drops, serpent-like, shoulders rolling as he waits for what he cannot see, or smell, or hear, but cannot wait to touch.
Misfit
i wouldn't love me neither
@Haunt
