A faint voice filters through the forest, drawing the attention of the ghoul. His head snaps up, ears pricking in a vain attempt to hear the speaker better, but the words have ceased. Still, the corpse-son is ever curious, setting off in the direction that he believes the sound to have come from. It is simple enough, for the leafless trees and bare bushes do little to obscure his vision, revealing far more now than they would in summer, and the brown coat of the stranger stands out fairly well against the snow.
He draws closer, cautious, only to freeze suddenly, uncertainty flooding his features. This newcomer is tiny, with fur hanging thickly from beneath his chin and stomach, just like the stranger he had been forced to confront in the caverns. He vividly remembers the encounter, the way his new-found wolf friend was unfairly attacked by a striped midget, the way he had stepped in as defender, only to be treated like a foolish child. The tip of his massive tail begins to flicker at the memory, a clear signal of his mood, should one happen to view it. Still, perhaps this odd little creature is different. If not, Slaiter decides, he can always leave the beast here, far away from cowering puppies.
Yet, he does not move to greet the pony, issues no salutations. He simply stands, watching with his dark eyes, ignoring the fact that he has probably been seen by now. Better to let the tiny stranger make the first move, rather than come charging out of the trees. He has learned much since coming to Helovia again, has heard stories of ghastly wraiths haunting the land. With his moldy pelt and hollow-seeming eyes, it is easy to be mistaken for one of the undead, and he has no wish to be attacked by a would-be hero. No, much smarter to wait here until acknowledged, for otherwise he may be seen as a threat. Maybe this way, the chestnut stranger will be just as curious about the green unicorn as Slaiter is about him.
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