It - he - emerged from the trees.
A twisted, wolf-shaped thing that looked less born than fished out of some godforsaken pit of rotting meat. Matted fur clung to his body like heavy black ropes, slick with the sheen of something unidentifiable and wet as the creature lurched through the lavender-tinted snow in a direct line heading toward only one thing:
You.
His eyes gleam with sick delight, a jagged smile curving up the sides of his mouth as twisted, yellowed teeth put themselves on display like the terrible visage of death itself. A rattling cough bubbles up from the back of his throat, but it sounds almost satisfying for the beast, like someone taking a long drag of a cigarette and savoring the taste of ash it left behind.
He moves not with the grace of a predator, but with the relentless, inexorable crawl of a disease made flesh, each step oozing murderous intent.
Suf krose,the monster rumbles, stopping only two meters away.
Af yia nad ezjiaragemelk?