In the deep recesses of the dungeon, the light of the Harvest Moon did not reach. The red haze did not penetrate, did not cast its bloody glow on the world around them. Larkspur found she rather missed it, at times. Ichorous beams made the world seem more alive. If stone and earth could bleed, then it could breathe. Could beat. Could pulse.
Stepping forward, she imagined the silvery hide of a single foreleg coated in the reddish glow. With a tilt of her head, they imagined the same o...