Slygotha touched the black stone embedded on her chest where she had placed her mantle of darkness, releasing it to snake along the ground like a mist. She reined it in a bit, so as to make it appear as nighttime within. Her sharp eyes would be little affected, but at least it would obscure her movement to the casual observer. It thinned out, not protruding above the trees, like a black smoke. In fact, smoke was exactly what she was going for. It would be less out of place, especially after a battle involving fire. The grey smoke still hung in the air, putrid wisps with reminders of death and her own sulfuric compounds after they had combusted.
Creeping forward, she paused often to cock her head and listen, but the creak of trees and the weird squelching of Ash, mud, and water sucking at her claws was all she heard. It was hard to pick up any other scents over the scents of her battle. Growing a bit bolder, she moved forward intently, dragging her claws through the mud to look for seed. She realized much of the landing was burnt out. Cursing, she went towards the opening of her den. The lingering darkness clung to the land like an early morning mist.
~~~
Trogdor could tell his father was upset. The man said that his meanest sister had died. Trogdor was mad that she had died. He saw his dad's resolve, and didn't really know what he should do or how to feel, so he started crying again. These emotions felt weird and alien as this small human body.