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the Wolf
Moving among the fallen leaves of the forest the Wolf stalked his minute foe, the scent was faint, but easily reached the nose of the hunter. Quickly it loped, sometimes on four limbs, sometimes on two, frequently it would turn and strike a tree, digging deeply into it with his claws before continuing, once it paused before a hollowed out log, and marked the entrance. It paused, sniffed, and crouched waiting for the squirrel to appear, and then. It pounced, oversized fangs digging into the tiny body, as it tried and failed to scramble away, escape the chelnching jaws, and gnashing teeth. But it was futile, the morsel was devoured before it could stop twitching.
The wolf stood up onto it's read legs, favoring an old injury on one of them, and then with it's good foreleg it clawed a spiral pattern into it's flesh. The greenish blood that flowed from the wound was a sickly unhealthy color quite dissimilar from the normal black of goblin blood, or the bright red blood of a wolf, and where it hit the ground it bubbled, frothed and hissed as it raised a putrid cloud from the foliage it rapidly ate away.
With that rite finished the man-wolf howled to the heavens, it was a howl that sent shivers through the forest dwellers, and proved suprising to many who heard it, for wolves don't normally howl during the daylight hours, and this one had an evil feel to it.
ooc: a tracker would notice that it favors one of it's forlegs, and a hind leg is turned inward and appears to be permanently out of joint.
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