Snippet #1722439

Had there been time to curse there was no doubt Charles would have spewed the foulest of them that he knew. The sight of a werewolf was one he'd seen twice before, each time carrying vicious blood shed greater than any other he'd seen. If this werewolf was no different than the others he might even die at their hands. It's breath was close enough to taste, and it reeked of a smell almost as foul as the miasma Charles seeped from seemingly nowhere.

Determined not to be killed before he bore that which he desired Charles backed away, pressing his left should against the bark of a tree a foot thick and lowering his body to ready himself. The miasma fog that swirled around him came to life, edging back as he did, pockets of the noxious fumes growing and then exploding in a great burst of smoke. It began to crawl up, hanging from branches, leaves, twigs, and anything it could grip to climb high and shield the man which brought it forth from any of the rays of the light that was already gone.

"Come foul beast! Let the night see who's greatest!"