A/N: It's weird to post an actual drabble for once. Housekeeping news: Burning House has been moved over to its own story, and the latest chapter of Ichor is in the editing process right now.


When Clove looks at him, he's reminded of a predator slinking through the underbrush, dark beneath the starless sky, the scent of blood curling in its nose like a siren's song, except the only ruin it promises is his own. He is the hare trembling beneath the shadow of the hawk, praying desperately for deliverance, but there is no mercy here. Madness is all that is left.

Her grin widens the longer she watches him, sharpening at the corners until it's just a mockery of happiness. Her smirk bites back a laugh, one of those high-pitched hyena chuckles that spiral in and out of lucidity. Her gaze is feral, pupils blown wide until they nearly swallow the dark brown of her irises, and hungry, bright with bloodlust. She looks nothing so much as Enobaria with her gold-tipped fangs gleaming with blood, half-wild, like a wolf that's learned to approach humans for scraps but will make off with a baby as soon as it's able to for no reason other than its delight in destruction.

She looks the same when she returns as a mutt.