When you care not where you roam, every road will lead you home. (solo)

[The Crooked Knight]

The red eyes receded back into the shadows of the wood, and Sketch heard a loud deep howl that pierced his ears.

Sketch heard more rustling and more snapping of twigs as he felt that the creature was circling around him, trying to confuse and distract him. Sketch stood upon the stone outcropping, his cane held out in front of him, in a vain attempt to intimidate the beast.

“Come on, you mutt. I’m not above having a nice, thick, fur blanket to keep the cold out.” Sketch said, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s.
The danger in the situation started to bring a familiar smile to Sketch’s face, he was never able to repress it when situations got dangerous. Sketch felt the familiar rush of excitement, the feeling of tapping into the darker side of his personality. If anyone were around to see, the image of the tall, skinny man giving an extremely wide grin with his dark laughing eyes, they would be reminded of a skeleton.

The beast lunged out of the cover of the woods, a large, auburn wolf with sharp teeth and piercing red eyes. It’s muscles bulged with the effort of covering the short distance between the edge of the clearing and the stone.

In the attempt to get his footing to swing his walking stick at the wolf, Sketch lost his balance and slide down one side of the stone, causing a small line of blood to appear on his forehead as a bump caused it to hit the rock.

The wolf, having missed its prey the first time, began to circle the clearing again, seeing its clumsy prey already bloodied.
Sketch stood and with the same wide grin, and with his arm’s stretched wide, began to speak in a deep dark baritone. “Once there was a Wolf and a fox… The wolf was large and strong, but lazy… The fox was small, but fast and cunning…” The over cast sky took on the unnatural black of a moonless night, mist started to sweep in from the trees. And a figure, it’s features clouded by the fog, rose out of the darkness.

The wolf stopped pacing, crouched into a defensive stance, and growled a deep, menacing growl. “The wolf would often bully the small fox to fetch it’s food for it, but as the fox was small, it could only bring it very little at a time.” The shape in the mist took one labored step forward, its body looked like an overstuffed scarecrow, full of straw wearing a worn blue and white striped shirt. Over it’s face, it wore the mask of a fox.

“One day, the wolf grew tired of the meager meals that the fox brought, and demanded that the fox take him to the cellar of the local farmer, where all of the meat was kept.” The wolf lunged at the Grym, who moved to the side, so the blow only scratched the face, causing the fox mask to crack.

“The fox lead the wolf to the cellar, and while the wolf only cared about eating as much as he could, the fox kept checking to make sure he had a clear way out.” The wolf circled the Grym again, getting closer with each rotation.

“Eventually, the wolf made enough racket that the farmer came down to the cellar to see what was happening. Upon seeing the old man, the nimble fox ran out the cellar door before the farmer could swing his nasty ax at him, but the wolf, having gorged himself on the meat, was too fat and slow to outrun the farmer. The farmer caught the wolf.” At these words, the Grym reached up to the crumbling mask it wore. “And with a swift chop of the ax…Split the wolf open.” The last stanza being emphasized slowly. As the final words were spoken the Grym took the mask off, and revealed underneath a monstrous face, with a sharp, wicked grin that ran ear to ear, and cruel, empty eyes.