Are you trying to make me loose it . returning from blooding

[VIRGIL M.]

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XVIII - THE MOON

a monument dreams and fantasies come to life, the representation of instincts often left suppressed and a knock into our subconscious.  Virgil of the pitt is a study in beauty: a perfect understanding of that which terrifies you, a perfect picturesque of horror and delight

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When virgil returned, it was within the next phase of moon. A month had gone by without the sight of the eerie welp, but what stood at the edge’s of the border was no longer the same welp. Instead Virgil looked different, small scratches marred their maw, sickly hued eyes staring down from the bone wall where they perched in await for them to be greeted. There was a skull that hid mos of their face beyond the glow of their eyes, leather coard tied around their neck to the lower jaw that hung around their neck.

Along their back, the small little bundle of a bat now worked as a cloak around them. phebe- the name of her familiar pet clung to them. Wings dropped loosely at each side giving her a sense of shelter- comfort even in the chill of the night of the coming winter moons.

Virgil looked out towards the pitt, towards the edges of camp with hungry, hollow eyes. Above the silence the hyena spoke. “My name is Virgil, and I had lost my way braving the desert.” Virgil had no really care for the wastes of the desert, such as wastes were the welp had been reared, where blood and ruin intertwined beautifully, yet all sweet bloodshed- must return to rot. The infection. Virgil was hungry for their own return, to see the skull that would adorn the garden they had planted within the summer. How wonderfully it would look frosted over in these lands.

“no longer am I the welp or of the unproven.”