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Chapter Text

Pitch Black can taste the fear in the back of his throat, thick and savory. The doe fears in the way animals do when they realize death is on them with sharp teeth and hungry bellies. Not as grand or as filling as the fear of a human child, but Pitch will take this offering.

Mother Nature runs with the wolves, letting the wind shift so the scent of their prey stays strong. The wolves fear too, in the way predators can; the land is in the grips of winter and it has been days since they've filled their bellies. Some are more aware than others that without this doe, some of the pack will not live to see spring.

Mother Nature knows that Pitch is there. She has a gift for finding him that he finds slightly unnerving, but he has long since decided that there is no reason to act against her (and many reasons not to). She could make things very difficult indeed for Pitch, but instead she remains neutral. And sometimes... she brings him these little offerings.

Pitch runs with Mother Nature and the wolves for a while, and sometimes he thinks he can see her smiling. Pitch has decided not to think about why that smile sometimes makes him ache. The wistful sweetness is unimportant, and flat white teeth soon turn into fangs.

The prey is near.

Pitch runs with the doe, filling it with fear. The doe runs faster, heart pumping wildly. If she can get a bit further, if she can jump the ravine, then fear will have saved her for one more day. The wounds she already bears are superficial and unlikely to become infected.

But no. The wolves are faster, their fear making them that much better suited to survive than the doe. Pitch drinks in one last moment of fear as she dies, hot blood melting the snow.

The pack fears nothing now. Their prey had eaten well before the snow had come, and her meat was still plentiful. Pitch leaves, his part done, and Mother Nature follows. There is blood beneath her fingernails, and the last thing Pitch Black sees of her before she disappears into the storm are teeth stained red.

Chapter Text

It wasn't always wolves and deer that called them together. Sometimes, it was far better prey. Sometimes, it was even children.

This night there are no children, but the air was still thick with human fear. There is something about it that was so much more satisfying to Pitch; the deer and the wolf think only of the moment, of escape or of filling it's belly. They do not -- could not -- think of the future. But man, oh! He thought, and he planned, and he feared for the future.

Pitch follows the men in the wagon. They are filled with fear; fear that the axle of their wagon will crack and leave them trapped in the storm, of the beasts that fill the wilds... and most of all, they fear the bandits. To lose the trade goods within the wagon would ruin these men. They had invested everything they had and more into the wagon and what it held, and there would be no mercy from the men they had borrowed from if they couldn't deliver. It wouldn't just be them to suffer; it would be their families who would lose their homes. This close to winter, it would be a death sentence.

There is something about the fear for the future that delights Pitch.

Mother Nature runs with the bandits. Truthfully, they hold little interest for Pitch; they were very good at being bandits, and even if they were unsuccessful this night, they would be comfortable through the winter. Their fears were insubstantial, and their leader had no fear at all.

Pitch finds that he does not much care for the way Mother Nature sometimes smiles at the bandit. It is not the predator smile she wears when she hunts, nor is it that disturbing wistful smile she sometimes turns on Pitch. The bandit is handsome, by human standards, and not even spirits were immune to a pretty face.

The fear of the men in the wagon spikes sharply; they can hear the hunting horns of the bandits over the howl of the wind. The ox pulling the wagon makes a mournful sound; it has no fear for Pitch, but the wind and rain make it miserable, and it does not care for the desperate attempts of the men to make it move faster. It doesn't matter, it's too late. Pitch can see the bandits on the hill; Mother Nature stands beside the handsome leader, a hand resting on the flank of the man's horse. Lightning crashes, and the bandit digs his heels into his mount's side. They fall on the wagon, and Pitch joins Mother Nature on the hill.

They do not speak. They never do. Pitch feeds, and Mother Nature watches her particular man until the bandits take everything they can carry, riding off into the storm.

Mother Nature follows the bandits, staying invisible by her favorite's side. Pitch follows the merchants.

Pitch decides that while they do provide him an excellent source of fear, he does not care for these bandits.