In a forlorn wilderness, dark and cold, the vivid scent of rotting, smoldering corpses carried by the relentless, howling wind, a lone figure watches silently, smoking his last cigarette. How has he come to be here, alone, forgotten, awaiting death?
A low, rumbling groan echoes in his ears, sending icy fingers to claw at every fiber of his being, his own voice. He laughs then, the hollow, harsh sound of it signaling the descent into madness, a place he is long familiar with.
The figure moves in to the underbrush, shifting it's shape as it moves. It's ears point skyward listening while it's sniffs the air, keen eyes watchful. The acrid smoke burns in his muzzle but beneath lurks something else. He turns and takes off, his red undercoat blending with the dirt and fall leaves. His ears twitch as sounds come at him, the evil that lay behind him is searching. For him, doubtful. He is merely the trickster, granting favors to either side when it suits his purpose, survival. Good and Evil exist outside him and no matter how persuasive, neither side has his trust, his loyalty.
The coyote bounds through the forest until it reaches a small den. He does not hesitate, but leaps through the opening and falls through the darkness, shifting again to human form. As the dark gives way to light, his fall is broken by the sturdy trunk of the tree. He winces as his arm makes contact, slamming him to the ground.
Damn, I'll feel that soon enough. He looks up at the tree, then rubs his elbow. He stands then, looking to the untrained eye very much like poor man, worn boots, threadbare coat a size too small, jeans faded beyond blue and torn. He pulls his hat brim down over his golden eyes and sets off to deliver his trade.
He finishes delivering the package, receiving a warm meal and a cold drink. His flask refilled a new pack of smokes tucked in his pocket, he heads off again. His next stop is at an old bar to visit an old acquaintance. The two men speak through thought and he's off on a new mission. A rescue mission, not his standard fare. He curses that he's been dragged in to this mess.
WTF! Damn Pierre. What part of life for a life and we're even didn't he get.
He shifts back to coyote form, slinking through the underbrush. He finds the portal, sniffs, senses something on the other side. Moving quickly, he changes form and pulls out a leather pouch. He adds some of the alcohol to the pouch and shakes it once. Tossing the bag at the portal, it explodes as it goes through.
Damn again. Need to find another portal. He curses Pierre yet again. There aren't many portals left to use and he'd had no choice but to destroy that one. He changes back to his animal form and takes off through the brush again.
Sometime later, he makes it to the next portal. Hidden within a thorny bush, it's quiet. He sniffs the air but doesn't smell the beasts. Taking that as a good sign, he slips through the portal, feeling the thorns tear at his fur. His eyes narrow, his ears perked up and he continues to sniff the air. Keeping his belly low to the ground, he slinks through the bushes towards the rendezvous point.
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