ooc- Nobody joins the threads with the really long posts, so I thought I'd try something short. Anyone can join. You can be anyone you want. Also, I have no idea who the fox could be hunting, so come up with whatever you want.
BTW, sorry if this is a little too dramatic. I was just writing something dark in my novel and couldn't help myself.
Sijra stepped forward and placed one footpaw on a tall rock as he scanned the empty beach. In his crow-black fur and heavy black robe, he stuck out like a sore thumb on the pale sand, but he didn't care much. Being noticed was a powerful tool to someone like him.
He was hunting. Sijra Arjis Crowfur, the black fox, was hunting something without knowing what, only fulfilling his need to do so. And the prey was running, which was satisfying. He enjoyed the nickname he had once earned himself in Mossflower, before he left many years ago. The Fifth Horseman. Not War, not Death, nor Plague nor Famine. He was Fear. There was no purpose in his existence but self-preservation and the desire to see fear radiating in the eyes of his victims.
And now, after years in exile, his last employer died and there was no one left willing to enforce it.
The Fifth Horseman was back. And he was hunting.