Mask: Red stands about 5’8" and weighs about 160 lbs. She has short, spikey red-brown hair that rarely is brushed and dark brown eyes. Her skin is weather worn and a deep bronze, making it difficult to guess her age of about 23.

Mein: Her short red-brown fur becomes a mane surrounding a white-furred canine face, ears and snout included. The color pattern continues down her body in the areas that are visible. Her eyes are now blue, so pale they are almost white.


She wakes to the sound of fresh water being poured and the smell of fresh food in the dish. Means it is hunting day. The Master is there, kneeling at her dishes, watching her with the a strange intensity that sends shivers down her spine. She slows down, slinking up to him on her belly. She paws at the ground slightly and rolls over, displaying her belly, and waits. After a moment he softly sighs and scratches her belly. ‘Eat,’ he orders. He continues to pet her as she wolfs down the fresh meat, happily crunching on the bones. ‘You should not have chased them away,’ he keeps saying. She pauses and looks up as the petting grows more rough. His eyes meet hers and for a moment, all she can see is rage far greater than what he had shown in anytime before with any of the failed hunts, though that was at the beginning. She had not felt his hand in any save affection for eons. His hand, currently stratching the underside of her lower jaw closes and begins to squeeze. She yelps in pain and jerks away, lowering herself immediately, cowering in fear at his feet. ‘Eat,’ he says again and strides away.
She watches him saddle his mount, an unusual animal that looks like a deer breed with cow and then breed with a horse. Its mate had been their most successful hunt yet. Soon, his familiar movements lulls her into a sense of peace and she begins to eat again, still watching. Her Master, the Hunter of the Hidden Wood, deserves such a mount. He stood tall and willowy. He had long green hair, colored like it was spun from the darkest of emeralds and eyes to match. His armor was made of leaves, woven across his frame with intricate detail and across his back was a bow made from the thigh bone of some hunt before her time. His ebony arrows always struck true so long as she found his prey. Her alone. He had brought others, but she had chased them away. None of them were as good as her. Never would be as good as her. So why should they waste his time? Oh. Perhaps that was what he was speaking of. She rises to her feet and trots to his side, looking up, a doggy grin upon her face.
He looks down and sighs once again before mounting up and heading out. She eagerly falls into step, wondering what their hunt would be this day. They hadn’t been out for some time, since she had been violently mauled by a bird-beast that had almost cost them their hunt. Almost. She wouldn’t, couldn’t fail. ‘Find that beast,’ he says. ‘The one that mauled you. That’s your target. That’s your hunt.’ With a call, she sets out, following the path they had walked, their scents still clinging to the rich earth. So intent in her pusuit, she doesn’t realize that her Master is not following as close as usual.


Somewhere in Between Dreams and Waking crysiannamarie