Shadows beneath the black moved. Branchs shuddered, and the winds whistled through leaves. And wolves howled at the Full Moon, echoed by the pack. The forest went silent; as a star shrieked across the vast expanse of stardust, it vanished far beyond the horizon.
From a branch, Lord Blackwood watched, shutting his eyes, to dream of a Vale beyond the stars. There, he sat upon an ancient throne overlooking the flames. Their numbers seemed endless, yet they were a speck within his domain.
He woke at first light, groggy to the sight of his devil. 'My devil,' he told himself, held down by the weight of his dreams and fatigue. A blemish of blood still rested on her cheek, perhaps from a late-night hunt or the slaughter from last night. He could not say which.
"Good Morning, Master," Tasha said, offering a bow. "Are you hungry?"
