Her skin was crawling, in the same manner of which it had in the first night the flies had begun to settle on festering equine flesh. She itched, she smoldered and she chafed at the cadaverous sensation; for despite the insistent twitch and shiver of her ebony coat, no cloud of insects rose from her, to resettle on her moments later. There was nothing. At all. Quelled unease grew against the restraints she made against it, thickening uncertainty and queer apprehension which knotted in her stomach like she was about to colic.

It wasn't until much later that she identified the sensation: that she was being watched.

Lilómiel's wingbeats sounded above her, a quick flapping which snapped and crackled through the thick summer air. He had been her eyes; from his wings, from his eagle-sharp orbs, she had cautiously explored their surroundings, combing through the landscape in a swift search to determine the source of her discomfort. Despite their best efforts, they had neglected to find the predator hidden away in the tree, the decidedly lethal fate awaiting her misstep, her presumed safety and comfort—waiting for a chance to shred her, ruin her, and neatly cut her out of the fabric of existence.

Nothing. It should've comforted her, that she was alone here with but her bonded for companionship, but it didn't. She didn't trust what she saw; she knew from Mongrel's magic that illusions could be as lifelike as the maker wanted. There was nothing to say she wasn't... cocooned away within a web of black magic, one which hid whatever watched her from her sight.

Her black's skepticism wafted through their bond, a reek of distaste and belief in her paranoia. The egoistic prick often thought he had the better idea in their relationship, even knowing he was much younger than the dark arachnid. If he could, Lil would use her for his own mischievous ends—so long as it didn't put her in too much danger.

Nymeria was beginning to find the bond wasn't at all as wonderful as she had thought it would be.

Grass cracked, rustled beneath the soft tread of her subdued hooves, an accompanying whisper which cloaked sound. The wind stirred; the musk of soil and blooming flowers danced in her nostrils, a soothing perfume wreathing her skull. Lilómiel chirruped, a high-pitched squeak of happiness as he drifted ever higher upwards, taken by the breeze. His joy radiated through their bond, a sheer and innocuous sensation which softened the edge of her apprehension, blunted her wariness. Eyelids flickered across crimson orbs, lips moving soundlessly as she murmured a prayer to the earth, a whispered notion of protection.

Then there was thunder.
Lids snapped open in astonishment (seeing as it was a clear blue day) and alarm surged through her arteries, a cracked-whip quick tide of fear which burned, bitter, in her mouth. Nostrils flexed wide, inhaling, and beneath the scent of summer she found the perpetrator of her flee response.
Cougar.

She stayed still as death in the shade of the trees, and then there was a snap, a crunch of a weight moving over branches.
Alarm tore through her bond and above her black shrieked. No further warning was necessary—adrenaline-fueled clarity and terror made her bolt, throwing herself into rough and hazy motion, wild in her fear. Behind her, the feline leaped, outstretched in a coiling pounce, claws aimed to pierce and hook through flesh in an unavoidable attempt at damage. A split second later and silvered talons slammed into her haunches, tearing through blood vessels and torqued flesh, jaws fastening over the lower part of her spine.

Nymeria screamed.

and you're so mysterious

got that obsession with death