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The Originals Season 2 Appreciation Week

A smell hung in the air that she recognized. It smelled of warm ash, wet grass, salted meat and fresh sweat caught in strands of clothing and she knew there wasn’t a camp too far off from where she was. Irelee kept moving. Though, as she moved in closer she also moved slower, carefully. Ears were on alert as she listened for anything, but yet she heard nothing. There were no voices, no beating hearts to be found. As she approached the opening where a green tent was pitched she found nothing. Yet, there was a fire burning and food cooking over the fire. Irelee walked out into the clearing, careful not to touch anything. That’s when she smelled it, the blood. Someone else had been there, but not for the same purpose as she. “Fucking vampires,” she cursed, hoping that she would have found a group of werewolves. Her head whipped around as she looked for any sign, but it seemed whoever made the attack came as fast as they went. It couldn’t have happened long ago, but the rabbit over the fire was as black as charcoal. Then she heard the slightest breath and it made her spin on her heels, ready to defend herself.  

"Who the hell is there?"

From the shadows did the hybrid begin slink out, his mouth still running red from his little excursion to the campsite that seemed so safe to the former inhabitants. Such was the way of life -- predator and prey; he had just so happened to dominate them to the point of carelessness. Why he chose to linger was never a case of empathy more so than him wishing to see if any were curious enough to come looking -- and indeed, they often did come looking -- though this one had a lot more... bite.