The sound of rustling leaves filled the air, followed by frantic chirping as little brown fuzzes rapidly flapped their wings in various directions. A full day and a half had passed for the hate reader since his last meal, and he stretched his fingers, opening and closing his hand.
Within a second, he shot his arm through the brush with a murderous gaze and grabbed a nearby quailbee by the neck. As he tightened his grip around the small creature, a warm light from above shone delicately on his black hair, and he looked up at the road ahead with a sun-kissed glow.
He wiped from his forehead with his other hand and bit his finger, allowing the droplets of blood to fall to the ground. With a loud snap, the ground beneath him set ablaze, and he grilled the mixed species of quail and bumblebee, watching the smoke rise toward the high noon sun.
