Everlast

Chapter 7; The blood trail.

Dagon rode through the Western Wood, the thundering of his horse's hooves echoing in the branches all around him. Now, even the birds stayed silent as he journeyed onward, hunting his prey, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air, searching for that familiar scent.

Goblins were blessed by the gods in very few ways, but one of those ways were their tracking skills. It was torture, pure madness, and he loved it. The rush of excitement as he followed the trail, the power soaring in his soul as he hunted. It was a near euphoric feeling and it was as lovely as it was terrible.

Reining in his horse to a stop, Dagon was broken from his thoughts as he came to the edge of a lake. THE lake, no doubt, since he smelled an unfamiliar scent here; human, most likely. Not far from the lake was the body of a Skrenae, its skeletal form nearly hidden in the snow. And beyond that, the blood trail continued, leading him deeper into the forest.

Urging his horse onward, he could smell the scent getting stronger, as if Jareth had been that way many times before. Foraging for food perhaps, since he had no servants to make it for him.

Dagon smirked; how quaint. The prince of the Nightlings reduced to a simple home, searching for food in a forest, no doubt sewing his own clothes as well.

His suspicions were confirmed when the trail lead him to a large tree with a door set in its center. Dismounting, Dagon walked up to the door and knocked. It swung open, unlocked, and he walked into a small, parlour-like room with several shelves of books and breakfast dishes still left on the table.

It was pathetic, really.

Yet it was undoubtedly Jareth's home; his scent was everywhere, nearly making Dagon cough. It was also mixing with the smell of human as well as another familiar smell.

"Elf." he growled, his lips pulling back in a snarl.

Either way, no one was here. They had no doubt left with the human to do gods-know-what and now he had more work to do.

Snarling once more, Dagon glanced out the window at the setting sun, its dying rays turning the snow blood-red. It would be night soon, much too dark to hunt for Nightling royalty. But looking around the room again, Dagon wondered if perhaps he need not sleep out in the cold tonight. So, though it was completely against his nature, he washed the dishes, tidied up a bit-- for he hated a mess of any kind-- and lit a fire in the hearth. Once that was finished, he tended to his horse, cooked himself a bit of dinner using whatever was in the pantry, and sat down by the fire to eat. By that time it was completely dark out, with only the glowing eyes of the monsters to pierce through the shadows.

When he was through with supper he cleaned up his dishes once more, then, out of shear boredom, he looked through the books on the shelves. Some were newer volumes, their leather covers still bright, and old tomes that had collected a fair amount of dust. There were titles such as 'The life and legacy of Lord Bimblewittle the Fourth; king of the Fae,' or 'Understanding Goblins; generally mean or just misunderstood?'

A few of the more interesting ones had to do with humans, and Dagon could not help but read a few of those, his eyes scanning the words by candlelight until they soon grew tired, their lids drooping. It was then that he dragged himself unstairs, throwing himself into the first bed he found-- which also reeked of Nightling-- and fell sound asleep, vowing to search for his prey in the morning.

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