The door swings closed behind us as we begin to leave the inn, with a soft, final click, and the inn’s warmth gives way to the sharp cool of night. The moon hangs fat and indifferent above Maw Rest, its pale light slanting through gaps in the clouds, painting everything in silver and shadow. The air is thick with the scent of wet earth and old wood smoke, the village winding down. It is night, proper night, the kind that hides more than it reveals.
My senses shift, sharpening instantly, pupils blown wide, catching every flicker of movement, every brush of wind through wheat or thistle. The colours bleed away, replaced by a world of contrasts, blacks and greys, silver glints off metal and the pale blue shimmer of distant watchfires. I can see clearly in this darkness, the details of bark on the trees, the twitch in the grass, the path winding south out of town. Every sound is amplified, boots on packed earth, the quiet rasp of Master’s breath, the soft shuffle of my own paws as I slip through the gloom at his side.
But there’s more, a pressure at the back of my mind, a low, constant hum. Master is reaching into my thoughts, not to see through my eyes but to harvest, drawing in every scrap of information I gather, turning my instincts into his own knowledge. He doesn’t need to ask, the Bond makes it automatic, a background current of shared data. I sense his questions as urges, his expectations like a hand on the back of my neck, What do you see? What do you hear? What should I know?
I scan, filter, and send
.Two militia camps just to the east, fires guttering low, sentries bored, some asleep on their feet..The stench of cheap ale, woodsmoke, drying leather..Four goblin voices, whispering sharp and anxious, counting arrows..Another camp to the west, mostly Alderian, quieter, weapons stacked and guards walking slow, half trusting the darkness to hide them..Southern gate ahead, wooden pallisade looming against the stars, two militia.
My scan picks up everything and the feed goes straight into him, processed, sorted, handed over as if he’s the warlord and I’m his hound. He reads it all in the way only he can, not as sights or smells or sounds, but as hard, actionable facts.
We pass by the camps, our footsteps soft, unhurried. No one calls out, Master’s presence is enough, and my collar, my stance, my proximity to him mark me as his, as not to be bothered. The guards at the gate barely look up, simply nodding us through as if we’re old ghosts returning to the road. Their eyes catch the moonlight, faces momentarily white and empty, and then we’re out, beyond the safety of walls, into the wild blackness beyond.
Outside, the night grows bigger, the air colder, and every living thing feels sharper, more alive. I keep close, senses wide open, every detail parsed and sent along the Bond.
Master’s mind is a constant, silent presence in mine, a hand on my shoulder, a weight on my leash. I process, report, obey. The hunt moves onward, one more step through the night, one more mystery trailing ahead. My heart beats in time with his, every footfall a promise, I will find every threat before it ever finds you.
The darkness can hide the world from anyone, but not from us. Not while the Bond is strong, not while I’m his, not while he keeps pulling every secret from the night and tucking it away for the battles to come. I walk at his side, shadow to his shadow, eyes wide and sharp, the perfect creature for the hunt.
We slip through the southern gate, the world opening out before us into wide, empty flatland. The last glow of Maw Rest fades behind, replaced by the hush of open country, stubble fields, scattered trees hunched against the night, a sky ink-black and endless above. The air is cool, heavy with the scents of earth and the last tatters of rain. Each step forward is cautious but sure, my muscles coiled, every instinct honed for what might skitter from the darkness.
Not far along, a movement catches my eye, a flash of pale fur and a glint of eyeshine. Two small creatures emerge from the shadow of a wind-bent tree, marsh hares, but larger and scrappier than usual, their coats bristling, eyes wide and luminous in the moonlight. They scuffle and circle one another, driven half mad by hunger or competition or the simple strangeness of the night. When they spot us, their little bodies tense, ready to bolt or to bluff, whichever the moment demands.
I crouch low, letting the light catch on my eyes, tail lashing in deliberate, predatory arcs. The Bond hums with anticipation, Master wants to know if they’re threat, nuisance, or nothing at all. They’re not worth a real fight, just desperate little scavengers, the kind of creatures even the weakest militia recruit would shoo off with a clod of earth.
Intimidate/Scare Off, 12, Intimidation +9, Yandere Devotion, Enhanced Senses +2, Master's presence +1 = 24
I bare my teeth, eyes flashing, claws flexing with just enough menace to let them know what I am. My body language is all hunger and violence, every muscle coiled and sharp, no mercy, no patience. The hares freeze, their bodies pressed to the dirt, trembling as I let out a low, deliberate growl, the sound more feline than human, meant for nightmares and prey.
The effect is immediate, panic sparks in their eyes, and with a frantic scramble they’re gone, bolting across the field, white tails bobbing in the moonlight until they vanish behind the next line of trees. No contest, no courage, just the law of the wild: run, and live another night.
I straighten, the Bond thrumming with satisfaction. “Nothing but marsh hares, Master,” I murmur, voice half-purr, half-maniac’s giggle. “Weak things, easy to scare off. You don’t even need to dirty your boots.”
I press closer to him as we continue south, tail flicking, every sense alert. For all the darkness can offer, nothing will touch him as long as I’m here, stalking by his side, predator, shield, shadow. The night belongs to us.
The words ripple through the Bond, good kitten, not spoken aloud, just a thought, but it hits me with all the force of a command. I shiver, eyes fluttering closed, letting the warmth of it spread from my chest to the tips of my ears and down to my twitching tail. There’s no greater reward, no richer pleasure, than his approval. It’s a pulse of belonging, a golden thread winding tighter through every part of me.
I press in close, never more than a step from his side, my head brushing against his arm, tail curling around his wrist, as if I could weave myself into his very skin. The night feels less cold, less empty with him beside me, every shadow, every gust of wind, every lonely patch of flatland transformed into home by the certainty of his presence and that quiet, unyielding praise.
My heart hammers with joy, possessive and bright, the Bond full of the wild, simple happiness of knowing I am seen, recognised, wanted. I let myself revel in it, purring quietly, every muscle relaxed, every step a dance of devotion and pride. I nuzzle his sleeve, claws kneading the air, body humming with the contentment that only comes from being exactly where I am meant to be.
