The ghoul halts his wandering hooves, ears swiveling to catch the strange voice that drifted through his home. He had heard the screech, of course, but such sounds were common in the swamp night, shrieks and screams filling the air until one might go mad. At first, he had been slightly unnerved, but months spent dwelling the the marsh dulled his fear, and slowly he has become immune to the horrendous noises, paying no more attention to them than he might a bird's song.
Yet this was different, a low crooning voice filtering through the fog. He couldn't make out the words, but it is doubtful that he would be frightened even if he did hear what was being said. Captivated, he slinks toward the source, curious rather than afraid. Through the thick mist, he perceives the black form of a horse, gliding through the muck with an ease similar to his own. Does this beast live here too? Why hasn't he seen it before? Could it be friendly? Emboldened by thoughts of monsters, he picks up his pace, approaching the beast as if she is an old friend. His voice rings out, the deep pitch belonging to abandoned crypts, not outside, though his words are those of a foal. "Hello! I'm Slaiter!" His muzzle extends as he approaches, yearning to touch the midnight curtain of her mane.
As the scent of others is drawn in, he turns, almost angrily, glaring at Sulwyn. "Have they been mean to you? I can help you chase them away, if you'd like." Childish demeanor shifts into a more predatory one, thick tail lashing that of an agitated cat. It isn't right that monsters should be hated, driven into hiding, just because they did things that others found upsetting. It wasn't their fault they were monsters! And this one, the sharp-toothed demoness, was so beautiful. Why should she be hated? It wasn't fair!
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