A moon hanging in the sky, red as blood. Unnatural fog that suffocated the land — also ominous and red, because that seemed to be the theme.

Even Mal had to agree with Myna: this was some cursed-ass bullshit and he didn't fucking like it. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with this place? Ghosts and voices whispering in his ear, sneaking into dreams, blood moons and curses, and —

Ugh.

Mal liked to think he wasn't that easy to scare, but this was enough to raise his hackles and send anxiety prickling down his tail in restless shivers. At least he had a job to focus on. That helped.

No matter what some stupid fucking moon was doing or how haunted it was, he was gonna get his goddamn treasure.

And hey, maybe everything being red would be a good thing. He was plenty red too, and for once all that ruddy fur was less likely to give him away. It felt like kind of a flimsy reassurance, but it was something. Mal would take whatever sliver of good luck he could get.

Sure, he was excited about the heist. Laser-focused on his job as he soundlessly crept around the thick underbrush where he was supposed to wait, on the side of camp where they'd determined the most important wolves slept. He just wished he could shake the bad feeling that'd been nagging since that damn moon decided to stick around during the day.

Grimacing to himself, Mal slunk towards his chosen hiding place: a fallen log, just tall enough to obscure him if he laid flat. From here, he had a good view into camp, was close enough to get there when he needed to raise hell, and might even catch a snippet or two of chatter, if any of their guards or slaves or insomniac-royals felt chatty.

Perfect.

Now all Mal had to do was watch, listen, and wait for the right moment...