“Caw! Caw!” Dark wings spread wide as strangers approached the craven’s chattel. Dead things swung in the air. A dark bulging eye took in the new comers. Silver flashed in the late afternoon light, as two figures on horseback paused at the fork in the road. To their left lay a stinking bog. Steam rose in a gentle cloud, lulled by the wind. To the right a winding path leads onward to a dying wood.
“Caw!” With greater agitation the large bird, a glossy black, lifted into they sky. A sent of decay followed in it’s wake, cloying at shielded faces.
“My Lady Master, we should not be here.” The shorter of the two dropped to the ground. In an instant it crossing the space between horses and gathered their reigns. He stood stoop shouldered, but muscular. Blue veins drew courses over grotesque musculature. One shoulder carried lower than the other, as if burdened by an unseen weight.
A woman’s voice issued from the figure on horse back. “No, we must finish this.?
Clad in a thick velvet cloak the Woman raised her face, looking at the sign fate had left them. Before her they hung there, a smell of rot and decay clinging to their ivory surface as once had muscle and sinew.
The diminutive figure on horse back raised a hand to the sky, shielding his face. “We must turn back Master, the Fates have left us their sign.”
“And so they have.” Her response was almost sad, as if accepting her own demise. Beyond, in the dead wood, a raven cackled with merciless satisfaction.
“It is too late Igor,” said the Crimson Woman. She looked upon the grinning bones, “The predator has become the prey.”