They moved on south, sorting the scents. Cooked meat, a fresh kill, wood smoke and ash, horses, grass. But overlaying it all was the stench of man. His hand was everywhere* tainting all that he had. Humans knew so little about their land, how to keep it, how to work in harmony with the riches their Gods had given them. There was no comfort in the land, it felt aggressive somehow to the Claw-Bound. Ill at ease.
Ahead of him, a broken fence led on to the overgrown fields of an abandoned farm. He hurdled the timbers easily, seeing also through his Claw's eyes the tangled vegetation at ground level and understanding the scents that she encountered there. A wisp of leather, the strong smells of damp earth and rotting vegetables.
Nothing moved in the ruins of the farmhouse. It had no roof and all of its wooden walls were holed and splintered, one collapsed entirely. Beyond it, and quite suddenly, a new scent was on the air, coming to them on the prevailing breeze. They halted again, she flat against the earth, he crouching by a broken wall. It was an unusual taste, masked such that although it was undeniably human, it was frayed somehow, hard to pinpoint.
His Claw echoed his slight confusion, even her highly developed receptors having difficulty deciphering what she was scenting on the breeze. Ultimately, her mind cleared and she set off, angling south and west, paws making no sound, head up, constantly checking her direction. He strode behind her, watching the land and the sky, determined that they would not be surprised from the air, or by hidden creatures as their unfortunate kin had been.
They travelled on, leaving the farmhouse far behind, his Claw turning first west and then north-west. He could see the route turning inexorably towards the elven camp. A threat approached the resting elves. They would hunt it down.
The panther increased her pace and he ran too, the scent strong, its masking failing as they closed. Ahead of them, open land rose gently towards the camp. It was empty but they had been told to trust their noses and disbelieve their eyes.
They ran on, the knowledge of the threat all around them but nothing bar the scent to confirm its presence. They had no clear target and the breeze picked up immediately they hit the open ground. He slowed and stopped in the rise, his Claw circling, growling deep in her throat. They were close, he could feel it. He ignored the emptiness, turning a slow circle himself, the smell all around him but stronger in two areas. They had been told this too. These men did not travel alone.
Beneath his feet, the grass was wet and footfalls quiet upon it. He studied it, looking for the darker trails that would signify the passage of man over the ankle-high grass. And there were trails but they were so many. Animals passed this way and these men were clever, walking in the tracks of the fox or the horse.
His Claw's ears pricked and she stopped in mid stride, paw raised, her whiskers twitching. Her head swivelled round until she was staring at the space right in front of him. Her eyes could discern something his could not. He used them, seeing in the few yards between them, a ghosting over the landscape, a caressing of the grass in the tracks of an animal. Like a mist that moved so slowly it barely blew at all. But move it did.
He flexed his long strong fingers and felt each of his sharpened nails in turn against his thumb. The outline, broken by its spell and reflecting nothing but the night scene around it, was moving away from his Claw and towards him but so slowly.
Perhaps in the brightness and noise of the day, the outline would have been truly invisible but in the stark monochrome of Claw-Bound night sight, any blemish stood out eventually.
He waited, appearing to look away, his Claw's eyes giving him his information. The man, for it was a man, tall like him, stealthy and patient, came closer, closer.
He straightened the fingers of both hands and whipped his left shoulder round, his nails spearing flesh. His right hand followed, fingers gouging deep, nails of both hands clicking as they met within his victim. In front of him, the man flicked into vision, eyes wide with shock, mouth moving only to deliver a choking sound and a spray of blood.
He dragged his fingers from either side of the man's neck and watched him fall, gasping for air, suffocating in the open, his windpipe wrecked. The assassin's partner attacked, a noise betraying him before he too became visible. From nowhere, the Claw swatted his lower back with a taloned paw, brought him down face first and bit down on his neck, breaking it easily.
She licked her whiskers, he sensing the warmth of the blood and the unpleasant sharpness of the taste. Not like the blood of true prey. Their eyes met again. There would be more.
They ran away south and west, searching.
He soared high and his mood was higher. His master was asleep and safe within the confines of the camp. No enemies were close enough to strike and so he was free to fly and to kill, though he was minded to be careful. The enemy might be weakened but enough mages remained to threaten him if he should attack the wrong targets.
So he searched for those who carried swords and who huddled in little groups, fearful of the night and what might come from it. He chuckled to himself, his thoughts full of the taste of blood and the feel of human offal on his hands. And he dreamed that one day all his kind would be free to plunder this land as they wished, to kill whom they wished and drink the fire of the souls of any human. Barring his master, barring all such masters. These were warm and he loved them all for their gift to his strain. None more so than his own master, who looked over him and protected him always.
He swam in the air, turning a circle, spinning his body and letting himself fall fast, only to spread his wings and curve away. He laughed again, this time aloud, hoping some of those hiding below would hear him and be afraid. And there was movement below. Just a little but his eyes were so keen in the darkness.
A shape stood against a tree in amongst a small sheltered wood. He quieted himself and dropped lower to investigate. Through the branches and leaves, the man couldn't see him. He landed lightly on a bough and stared about him. On the ground by the standing man, another lay. Both were soldiers. Neither was obviously injured and that made them fortunate. But not for long. No one else was near.
He took off, flew high and away, banking gently around to find his target. He meant to come in from the side. The man was looking ahead still, back to the tree. The demon licked his lips and dived. The wind across his body was chill but invigorating, his arms were stretched in front of him, ready to grip the skull. Entering the wood, he slowed a little, needing control for the quick kill. He could smell the man now, the anxiety bled from his pores, his sweat stinking, his clothes damp and reeking.
Too easy. He was silent, his target had no notion of his approach. He wanted to see the terror. At the last, he chattered his delight and the man began to turn.
Sudden green light erupted to his left and heat, terrible heat, seared into his flank and the side of his head. He screeched and tumbled away, unable to stop himself striking the ground, one wing ruined, his whole body burning with the mana fire.
'No, no, no,' he wailed as he rolled in the mulch on the ground, the spell eating into his flesh, unquenchable, draining his life from him.
His thoughts flew to his master. He could feel his pain across the miles, the crushing in his mind, the howling agony and the loss that was to come. He rolled over and two men stood above him, watching him die. One had a greying beard, his expression stern and cruel. The other, younger man he recognised too. He led the cavalrymen of Lystern.