[center][color=ed1c24][b]The Black[/b][/color][/center]
Around The Black, any facial reaction was a mistake. Kane caught onto Thomas. Investigative gaze, a stare that cut through a man like sharpened steel peeling the layers of skin. Carving an apple. His mere presence seeping under the skin as though the person looking at him had spiders crawling on the inside of their body. "So. She is here. I suppose I'll have to be quick before she disappears. Fayth is good at that. Good at hiding herself. I suppose you know that already. And now you know what she is, but do you really? Of all the things I've ever seen or done. I've never seen a heart so dark…" Inhale. Exhale. Orange glow. Smoke in the air. The Black put his cigarette out on the nightside table by the hospital bed.

The Black's nostrils flared. Taking in the scent around him. Well aware of Thomas's silver knife. "Funny thing about smoke. When you smell it, you know a fire is coming. Will you be prepared? It won't matter if the flame is too vast. Too wild. Everything touched turns to ash inevitably." He stood up from his seat. "I'm taking my leave. I have no desire to fight three on one even if I think I'd come out alive. The only mistake is thinking that I'm the one who's outnumbered." The Black strolled to the exit of the room. "Have a goodnight, hunters." As he left, he whistled an audible tune. The beat unmistakable. A folk lore song made by hunters and wolves alike about the bloodiest legend of Alaska. The words whispered so dark, so quiet in the mind…

[center][i]Once in the icy tundra the wolf pelts stacked so high,
No man had to fear as the beasts were forced to fly
But one night the blood moon rose, and so returned the pack
Cocky men packed their guns, never to be coming back
And the snowy fields turned crimson red from the night's attack
Hunter becomes hunted, and all fears The Black… 
The Black… The Black… The Black...
[/i][/center]

And so soon, once he was gone from the room. The Black and his scouts disappeared into the night like ghosts.