Scavengers.
@obsxduri
It's mid morning, and itās unnaturally cold today. Fog rolls down through the trees of Sunseongās southern forests, and there's a slight chill in the air. There's always an eerie silence that sweeps through this area every morning after a full moon, with the only respite from the tranquility breaking through the mist is the occasional call of a waking denizen of the woods, like a single bird or frog crying out to let the world know that it survived the night. The most consistent sound that travels throughout the trees is not more than a melodious gust of wind that rattles their branches while whistling away at an inharmonious tune. Not even the cicadas dare to break the ominous silence with their otherwise ceaseless chatter. Itās as if the forest itself is in mourning, and is still recuperating from the horrors of the moon the night before.
No sane person would dare to venture out here during this hour; you never know what you might run into. A good number of lunatic weres retire themselves to these woods to wait out their primal impulses while under the moonās influences, so as to avoid bringing harm to others, or themselves. It isnāt the most refined strategy; one still runs the risk of running into another bloodthirsty were, only for the two to scratch and tear away until only one is left standing. Thereās also been rumors of hunters catching wind of this routine, and sweeping through certain parts of the forest during the morning to āclean upā any defenseless weres that might be sleeping off their involuntary hunting like a bad hangover. Thereās also always the chance of running into a were thatās a bit more aware than others at this time, and bit less friendly than they would be under normal circumstances. Needless to say, traveling through this place willingly isnāt the average personās idea of a good time.
For Jiho, on the other hand, itās worth the risk.
He has the benefit of being able to shackle himself down on a boat over a dozen miles offshore overnight, but that comes with a price. Every morning after a full moon, without fail, he finds himself to be insatiably hungry. It only makes sense to him; he prevents his body from fulfilling its natural desires in favor of his own morality, so itās no wonder that he feels so starved. He has a pounding headache as well, and while he would love nothing more than to sleep it off, his hunger outweighs any desire to rest by a substantial margin. He flies above the treetops, circling the skies for a suitable breakfast. His vulture form may be large, but the guise of the fog coupled with his elevation from the ground provide the illusion that he is nothing more than a dark bird-shaped silhouette of an unidentifiable size. Though his vision is usually nothing short of impeccable, he feels incredibly groggy from the night before, and the thick fog isnāt doing him any favors, either. Fortunately, his sense of smell is better suited for this sort of thing anyway. He only needs to pick up the scent of some poor animal that was caught in the chaos of the lunaticsā rampage, and smelling corpses is the one thing he does better than anything else.
He circles around the area a few times; a fresh corpse wouldnāt give off a very distinguishable scent, especially from this altitude. He also wants to be sure this is an actual animal and not a were corpse. It isnāt that hard to differentiate the two, and he canāt bring himself to consciously feast on another were, no matter how alluring the stench might be. He wobbles around in the air a few times, with minor struggles to keep his aerial balance. Coming out here like this is particularly dangerous for him. In addition to the normal risks this place provides, Jiho is still recovering from his own lunacy. Itās hard to stay awake and focused; most carnivorous weres would either be asleep or considerably irritable this early in the morning. Staying awake and in control is quite difficult right now, let alone staying airborne, but he desperately needs this meal.
His eyes become heavy; the chilly morning air is drawing him to drowsiness. He drifts, slowly. Slowly, he falls. He leans to one side as he descends, unwillingly. The gentle and soothing breeze begins to transition into a sharp wind as he accelerates downward. He breaks through the foggy clouds and draws ever closer to the treetops. His eyes are all but closed, and what little vision he has left is only becoming cloudier. He lets himself go; heās too far gone. He falls another fifty feet, just a few meters above the tallest of the trees. Abruptly, heās awakened by a sharp rumbling, and an alluring aroma. He catches himself just in time, shooting himself back upward with his powerful wings, only barely grazing by a branch or two. At least heās awake now. The rumbling he felt is easily recognized as his own stomach, and the aromaā¦
Itās close.
It smells like a fallen wild boar, and his mouth waters at the mere thought of it. Based off the strength of the smell, he should get there in a few minutes. He glides swiftly, now just above the trees, and with redoubled resolve to get his breakfast. His hunger drives him forward, and nothing, not even sleep, is going to stand in the way of his meal.
