keep your teeth sharp 
Despite the closeness of her presence, he still found sleep avoided him, if not more so now than ever. The cruelty his paranoia wrought was worse than anything. Dreams, nightmarish visions that plagued him when those dregs of slumber finally did manage to claim him under their tides. It helped none that he had not indulged in his own sick and twisted form of the hunt. Her comfort kept that maddened violence at bay, and she showed little interest in returning to the once safe haven of their home. He supposed in the end it had become a prison for her, a tomb devoted to the life they could have had. Sentiments he both understood and found wholly foreign in the same breath.

Most nights, he was content to simply lie next to her, offering the warmth that her clothes often times did not. Fall had descended onto the cusp of winter and already a thick layer of hoary frost coated the carpet of autumnal leaves and the thick beddings of pine needles. Tonight, however, had found him restless, a plague he would blame on the growing proximities of the moon which glowered oppressively down at him. He would be forced to make a decision soon, to send her back. To find some other hiding places for that time. His third option being one that he had had to take before while traveling in the lands of her birthplace: poison. It was a choice he didn't often favor as it left his senses skewered for a time afterwards, his frame aching and weak from the unwanted effects that lingered in consequence. He drew in a heavy breath as he peered in disdain at the sprig of wolfsbane, turning it capriciously betwixt his fingers. He'd already resigned himself to this lot, for he knew in the end she would refuse to leave the cavern, and finding another area may only prompt her to look for it, unknowing of the danger that would lurk there. That besides, he'd yet to find anything as fortuitous as the cave he now resided in. Any other was far too close to civilization or some trail well traversed by hunters or caravans familiar with the mountain pathways.

His attention turned back to the task currently at hand. Unfortunately, one stalk of bane was not nearly enough, but his sight had grown accustomed to the darkness, finding little need for torches and lanterns that would draw unwanted attention in his search. The abrasively large breadth of the moon aided well, soon illuminating another of his quarry. The first met with his teeth, the resulting plant ichor filling his senses with the repulsive, acrid odor. He'd heard many in nobility resorted to brewing them into teas, valuing themselves too refined to turn into mere beasts viewed below their statures. His father had been one such breed, the taste was said to be vile,the scent unbearable, so it was masked with other fragrances and herbs to make the tonic palatable. His malformed son, however, had no such difficulties; one of the better sides of having little in the sense of taste, he supposed. He knew the copper of blood, the tinge of heat - though the two of those could largely be blamed on his nose more than mouth - and the curt bite of acidic sourness, a sensation that currently curled across his tongue, but that was it. No other unpleasantness would come until far later.

His hand would find pause at the third, gaze lifting as the wind switched. At first, he'd thought it merely his train of thought that plagued him with the presence of iron, his grasp slow as he detached the vegetation from its roots, though this one didn't immediately find his lips. An unnatural cold wound its way into the pit of his belly that had naught to do with the ingested plants. His legs and back straightened, drawing in a long breath as he did so, his jaw clenched so tightly with the apprehension that the sinew along his neck felt strained and whined its dismay. Then dimly, he heard it.

Lokir's ringing call.

His legs immediately began to move, long strides becoming irregular as his bones shifted, snapping and cracking under the plight of his skin. A sensation that once bore such vicious anguish that had become second nature and almost fluent in its transformation. One of his finer points, Lord Markai had often appraised him for, perhaps the closest thing he would ever receive in terms of praise from the monster. He'd even gone as far as to commission a special suit of armor for him, the steel that bore the insignia of his name, an enchantment that pulled it along between his once frequent shifts between man and animal.Though the great form of the beast was unmarked by it now, he knew it would be there when he  was closer to the cave. An unforseen boone in his keeping this secret from those of Sanctuary.

Getting closer, though, he did not bother to shift again, not when the scent of sanguine so permeated the air. Lokir's, a strange one, and lastly, Ethel's. The snarl bled from between his peeled lips as his crown lowered, great shoulders slinking to fit into the cavern. His loyal companion lay sprawled about the foot of the pelts that made their bed, his form trying in vain to lift itself. His lips dripped crimson, panting, growling as his amber eyes looked from Dimi to the cavern opening. Desperation clawed at his mind, a sense of his own that was only heightened by the added weight of Lokir's and his despair. Took her. With steel. On horses. Couldn't follow. The words were a whimpering whine as Your soothed him back to the ground with a hard press of his muzzle, gentle yet firm, bidding him to remain there. Rest Recover. I will find them. After all, they had left him a trail. One that set his ire ablaze, one that set his blood alight in a flurry of wrath. His nose pressed to the furs that bore her ichor the greatest. Still damp, Still warm. He had just barely missed them.

He never should have left.

The thought was a constant echo as he departed the egress, back into the arms of the wilds. It rattled eccentrically about his skull, crashing into itself so hard that it echoed and the chiming of it became unbearably loud. So much so that as he caught up the the rear guard of the party, it muted the sound of crunching bone, the explosion of which did little to satisfy the anger that boiled beneath his skin. The scream of the man's horse pierced the dense fog that covered his thoughts. A sound he was certain breached the now deathly quiet that reigned over forest. The beast of burden writhed upon its side as he'd wounded it when snatching its rider from its back between his jaws. The man lay a fair distance away, shredded mauled, but he didn't devour vermin.

The shrieking whinny would abruptly cut from existence.

As he had expected, the commotion did not go unnoticed. The next he found were nearly back to back, their torches wielded against the encroachment of the shadows, their horses' eyes wide and wild as their nostrils flared. They were not war steeds, they were unaccustomed to the sounds of savagery, their eyes wide and wild. He skirted the pools of gilded illumination, unbothered to mask the sounds of his pacing approach. He wanted them to hear, he wanted the animals to panic, he wanted them to either be whisked away on a mad flight through the darkened wood or better yet to be thrown to the ground while their mounts fled with their lives. One tried, the fainter hearted f the duo rearing in terror as the waft of copper hit its senses. Pity did not exist in his chilling stare, not even for the innocent creatures clutched by the reigns as its rider was thrown from its back. But not entirely as his heel was snared by the stirrup, his scream could be heard as he was frantically drug across the moss and stones alike before his cry too was cut off with a sharp snap, though it did not come from the wolf's jaws. Those were saved for the remainder of the two, crushed beneath the weight of what my as well be a pony.

His torch lay to his side, dropped in the calamity that had them in a strangle hold. Its flickering stare would catch up on the dripping fangs as the great skull lowered closer towards the man, one who almost retained his senses as he slashed furiously with the sword he held with a white knuckle grip. He already bore a cut to his arm, evidence that it had not been Lokir that had marked him. How scared she must have been, how frightened as they had come spilling like ants. Their was a festering sense of pride to know that she had not been easily taken - that she had not willingly gone. She hadn't betrayed him for her own safety, though he would have rather she did. After all, it wasn't just this ones veins that had lead him here. The steel bit his shoulder, piercing deep into the ropey sinew, but as it was withdrawn, he merely shook the would-be wound aside like a splinter as the flesh sealed almost bloodlessly behind its departure. Lupin lips split apart, a fetid mixture of both a rumbling snarl and a wicked grin. "Wol-!" the word died, drawn into a shuddering cry that lingered on into the night. He would not die. Not right away. Not when he had to fnd out which one of them had hurt her. Perhaps if some scavenger was brave enough he would meet his end before the wolf found him again, but it was unlikely considering that nothing save for he and his targets moved within the forest now. He had been here long enough by now. The monster. The butcher.

The underbrush wasn't high enough to cloak him, so it was distance that he stalked them from, it was by the gleam they cast with their wavering lights cast about light guiding beacons within the heart of the forest. They were far from Sanctuary now, nearing the outskirts of what was once Dunmeath, a barren wasteland riddled with death where no life lingered any longer. There would be no risk of any other stumbling upon his path, he merely had to find which of them held her. The rest were fair game. He would find each of them. There would be none that escaped this night, no youth or begging or promise of a family. Not when they had tried to take what was his. His!!

The torches brought to light what was nearby, but the shadows outside of their halos were darker, more blinding than without the grace. Some of them had departed their saddles, and the horses would flee as their masters fell like cattle. Arrows of stone and twigs pierced his back, their shafts broken upon corpse and tree alike. The numerous cuts and gashes healed seamlessly in his reckless tirade from the blight of steel. Save for one that had glissaded across the span of his ribs that maintained its tempered bite. Once his sword arm had been wrenched free, it was this one that garnered the apparition of his armor as his body contorted, twisting in upon itself with the complaint and snap of bone. Gauntlet flexing as he had to refrain carefully from crushing the wretch's throat in his grasp. "Where is she?" He inquired, his vocal not unlike the ruthless growl of the canine before. "Where is the woman you stole?" Bulging, bloodshot eyes cast over his shoulder, back the trail from whence they had come. The path they were taking unmistakably leading them into Vufrien, one akin to the carriage road that had once bore Horse and their little wagon to Odersten. There was no fire that marked the remnants of the bounty hunters' party. Either there were so few remaining, or they had grown wise to how it marked them so very easily - he couldn't be sure. Though from whence forth, he dare not shed his human skin again. No, he would only gain her abhorrence, not the terror he had seen in her eyes when she had witnessed the markings that scoured the cavern walls. The unknown proof of what he was. He knew she held disdain for his profession prior to him becoming a simple hunter for Sanctuary, but she had never been a witness to it before.

But it was to keep her safe.
This time, it was the only way.

Even if it was.... Too much for her, she would surely forgive him. She would look the other way, wouldn't she? But would she look at him the same again? Would she leave? Would the fire in the cave once again be rendered to just damp ash once again? But wouldn't that be better in the end? Maybe it was for the best that he hadn't yet made good on his promise to slay the creature she had so feared. For now, at least.

It was growing closer, but still remaining faint the trail that had inevitably lead to this point. His nose twitched involuntarily, a remnant of his transformation, his mouth temporarily curling into a vicious snarl under the guise of his helm. He would wait here along the path striking before they could gather their wits. Hopefully before they could wield her against him. He settled himself along the rough bark of the tree, his figure crouched to conceal himself from sight. The wait wasn't long as soon the careful footfalls of the steed approached, along with the company of voices, low and hurried. They were planning to take her away for questioning, and further still for an accomplice it would appear. One responsible for hiding him away and aiding in his evading of their so called justice. More or less, they hoped to get more gold for the pair rather than just himself. He dared not move to glance around the bough, knowing well that the slightest move, the merest sound could be discernable in the hush that choked the wood aside from their own nervous chatter. Already they spoke of their whims to spend their hard earned trophies - or so they called the yearned for riches - but they lacked the truth of confidence. After all, they weren't locked safely beyond the gates of Odersten yet. Nor would they be.

"Look away."  The words left him, a command for Ethel and she alone as he swung the great claymore in an arc that whistled as it cleaved cleanly through the air and the strong sinew of the horse's neck, causing the animal to stagger and collapse, spilling its rider among the gore. His warning seemed to have been unnecessary, however, as his assessment would find Ethel unconscious across another mount. One that swiftly met a similar end to the first, albeit not as clean in his haste. The man seemed to be prepared though, lurching backwards with his hostage in tow to avoid the savagery of his hand's savagery. The face was one he dimly recognized, a pallid sneer assembling upon the quivering lip as he held the knife precariously by his wife's throat, his other hand fisted deeply in her auburn hair to pull her crown back, pressing the swan curve of her neck taunt to the steel. Another drop of crimson pulled, rolling along the edge.

He was still, the only motion being the tilt of his head, the slow lower of his arm back to his side. The great sword resting across his shoulder. There came no immediate sound other than the desperate panting of the bandit. His dark eyes bulged, wide and fearful, his hand trembling in its white knuckle grip on the hilt. "Stay back there!" he ordered, his vocals shivering in the night. Adrenaline. Fear. He cared naught which one it was that held the most sway. Dimitris obeyed, but despite that obedience, the kidnapper would only shuffle further back towards the veil of the shrubbery at his back, putting more distance between them. Behind him, the wolf could hear the wild throes of the horse as it struggled to rise its gasping breaths through the crush of its windpipe haunting the air. His frigid sight never strayed from them. From her. From him. From the point poised at her neck. "Drop your sword, Mister! Drop it and stay back there, or I swear I'll open her throat from ear to ear!"