[i]When one thinks of a monster's lair, usually a vast and yawning cave comes to mind. Much like the witching hour, many would be incorrect about this. Deep in the woods there was a hole. A little stony outcrop surrounded by willows and timothy grass, like the dwelling of a gremlin in some fairy tale. It went down much farther than any gremlin hole. A cold, rancid breeze flowed from it now. Air from the depths, brought up by something squeezing through the tunnels. It smelled humans, ones much more substantial than the girl. 

It erupted out of its dwelling, surging along the damp ground like a vast adder. It took minutes for it to cross a distance that would have taken hikers an hour. It stopped beneath a tree, curling about the trunk so tightly that the bark creaked, and gazing up with blind eyes at the woman resting upon a branch. Like any animal, it looked for advantages first. A lioness did not simply leap out in front of its prey. A lioness preferred to hunt in packs to minimise the chance of failure. All things were an enemy Shashous-Throth, but an enemy of your enemy was a friend, so long as that enemy existed. The prey it scented was formidable enough to warrant insurance. 
 [/i]