The she-wolf twitched an ear and nodded. Slowly, she made her way into the forest.
She poked around many different bushed, but all of the berries seemed to be red here. She remembered well what Slash had said: red ones are poisonous. She rubbed at her temple, feeling the dull, aching throb somewhere deep in there. The gems imbedded in her arms seemed to ache as well.
Moving as briskly as she could, she went from brushy knoll to brushy knoll with little success. Finally, after a time, she found a bush with blackberries growing on it, cupped her skirt like a net, and began to pick them.
She squinted as she picked, hopping the throb in the deep recess of her mind would recede, but alas, it did not. It continued until at last...
The she-wolf perked up. Something was rustling through the bushes, moving quickly in her direction. She sniffed the air, catching the distinct taste of sulfer which caused her to recoil in horror. It was putrid, pungeant and made her nearly gag. She dropped her skirt, the berries scattering in many directions. The rustling grew louder, leaves began to dislodge from the bushes and scatter high into the air. The wind picked up; something was coming.
She had just enough time to turn and catch the glimpse of a shadowy figure leaping from the brush, throwing its torn and hole-riddled wings wide, screeching a horrible note with spittle dripping from elongated fangs. The flesh was hagrid, pock-marked and warped with disease, death and evil. Piercing white eyes dripped a vile fluid.
The she-wolf felt the pain in her head grow.
