You're a Devil, Boy? Well So Am I

the Rift

Long, skeletal limbs move, whisper quiet, through the dark dusk—their movements are slow and fluid and prowling. The flaps that cover the sceletus’ nares move slightly with each humid breath, scenting the air and harboring its venom.

There.

The silent, large, graceful, but slow predator scented blood. So it prowled through the trees, pale and long neck tall and snaking through the young limbs as pale eyes searched and searched for prey…

Dark tentacles around his face twist and writhe in anticipation; though they, too, are silent. Even as the creature nears the obsidian stones and it can feel the heat rolling from the living, breathing prey.

So he prowls, closer and closer—a noiseless hunter, though judicious eater. The flaps on his face suck in with a deep breath—

And he expels his venom from his face, a shooting gob of white-clear and paralyzing goo. But he aims it only at one creature; he is not a greedy predator. One equid is more than enough to fill his skeletal gut.

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