Hunt or be Hunted

Chapter 1

Phoenix sheathed her daggers and threw on her red cape. She strode outside and silently stalked down the halls; a mere shadow on the walls. Licking her lips, she prepared herself for the hunt ahead of her. An eager grin spread across her face as she reached the exit. In one swift motion, she threw up the hood of her cloak and stepped outside.

The wind hit her face and blew her blonde hair back from her face. She was finally outdoors again. Phoenix let out a snarl for the witch hunters who kept her inside for so long nowadays.

She ambled forward a few steps and inhaled; the fresh air was absolutely divine. With a tilt of her head, she used her acute senses to locate her dinner. A Manticore and pack of Empousai. Phoenix rolled her neck; a Manticore sounded good. She licked her fangs and set her foot forward but stopped at the crack of a twig. Her head shot in that direction. This was her hunting ground; the other witches had their own. Each witch knew better than to venture into another's area.

Phoenix scrunched her eyebrows- the scent she was getting was certainly not one of a witch. This was quite a curious thing, and she was quite a curios creature. That let but one option- to explore.

Following her ever faithful senses, she wondered through the dark wood. When the scent was the strongest, Phoenix stopped and surveyed the area. A few paces ahead of her was a fraction of a red cape. She tilted her head. Why would any witch take their cape off?

Deciding the oddity was worth investing, she moved toward cloak cautiously. A snap echoed out. Her head jerked to the left. It was a mere squirrel. Phoenix rolled her eyes at her foolishness and advanced forward. As she got closer, she took out her daggers, just in case.

When she arrived to the area, her jaw dropped along with her two daggers. There, fallen cold and dead, was a witch. Phoenix had seen her around before, but she couldn't quite recall her name. Winnie, perhaps? Anyways, her name didn't matter. Though next to her, written in unicorn blood- by the smell of it, was a message. No human had the skill to harm, let alone kill, either. No witch killed a unicorn- for they were scared animals- much less a member of her own coven. What had happened here? This worried her, not only because of the dead witch and unicorn, but the person who wrote the message was still out there.

Stop your hunting or stop your living.