The blistering heat remains confusing eyes and mind.
A breeze comes through the trees into the clearing. Its gental sway feigns a breif but well felt joy to the unwhitting, while its omenous nature births shudders of fear.
The breeze grows to a wind and grows to a gust as the clouds clear away revealing the crimson glow of the Woolf Moon.
The howls and wails of the wind conjure a din that masks the howls and wails of man.
Bones shattered, limbs torn asunder, voices siezed, souls stolen from young and old alike.
He prowls
He feasts
He murders
He is all around you
He is the Hand of Doom
He is Fenris
He is The End.
Dolfrafn
