The tree was an interesting one. It grew straight up out of the stagnant green water. Roots spider-webbed from the trunk all along the edge of the creek bed and up the wall of mud until it reached the level ground of the forest. The trunk was white and sturdy and covered with a fine layer of red moss, soft to the touch.
Malaya sat with her back to the trunk, balanced on two branches of roots, suspended over the water so that if she looked down, all she could see was the space between her and the floating green algae.
The only other view was the one looking down the brook to the falls about a mile down the way. Falls producing a constant dull roar, green foam, and a noxious fume; a fume that extended all through the valley and fed those in the city with a stench riding upon the winds of change.
A stench that tickled a part of Malaya's psyche and stirred the growl of an animal in the back of her throat.
She liked it down here in the valley though, away from the smog of the city. She could closer her eyes and let her mind dwell on something other than past things done. Let the memory of the rest of her life be carried off on the croak of the raven's call. Close her eyes and try to forget the feel of the soul that had seeped its way through her dark purple veins the night before. It was an addicting feeling, a high to feel the life of a human, of human emotions, and she often had to fight to remember that it was just memories past, memories not hers. This was her job, and she was good at it. No time to get overcome by the shadow of each human soul she stole.
Her own paper thin skin, stretched taught across her body, matched the white of the tree, so much so that her body could barely be distinguished from the roots themselves. And so it would be, if not for her hair, colored as if by blood, falling thick around her shoulders and the black of her eyes staring out from an angled face.
Something soft nudged her hand. She jumped lightly before relaxing and caressing the ashen head of the hell hound nuzzling for a bit of affection. Well, hell hound may be a bit of an exaggeration. He was a mutt, as far as she could tell; part hell hound and part earth creature. She had found him a couple months ago. A puppy, cowering in the devil's forest at the gates of hell itself. Normally such creatures didn't survive, but somehow this little guy had made it.
His smaller-than-normal stature and rat like nose made her think that his dog parent had been some sort of small terrier breed. A tortoiseshell pattern leaked through the ashen fur to create a speckled pattern within the gray. The ears as well tapered into a sharper point than was normally seen in the pets of her friends. But the hell hound traits definitely remained dominant; plain to see in the stocky body, whip like tail, and tiny horns that peeked right around the pup's ears.
"What are you up to, Beasley?" Malaya murmered as his little wet nose kissed her extended hand with a gossamer touch. His puppy paws gingerly balanced on the white fingers of the tree, reaching out to grip the shelf. "You hungry bud?" The hound pulled back and shivered. Malaya pulled the dog into her arms, against her chest, and rubbed his rough fur. "I'm a little cold myself. I swear, it gets colder here every year."
A black tongue reached out to lick her paper-like skin. "There! You are hungry! Need something to fuel those growing muscles, you little weed." With a sad look, Malaya surveyed her peaceful haven. "Well, work will be starting soon anyway. Come on bud. Let's get back to the city."
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