Chapter 6
It Watches From Above
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857010/chapters/49764770
The Snowdin Wood was quiet.
Far too quiet for it to be safe, though the winterlocked forest of the Underground often wasn’t anymore. No longer were the cabins in the wood homey, lit and warm and filled with laughter… they stood empty and hollow, some burned, some rigged with cruel devices to capture prey.
The powdery, pure white snow was no longer a fond plaything. It could be a deadly disguise, hiding away a terrible beast under its surface, just as well as it could sequester away traps from the searching eye. The river was patrolled at all times by the boatman, watching and waiting for any fool enough to venture close. The town was barricaded, and guarded fiercely by a monster you would never want to meet, day or night.
Not even the trees could be trusted, heavy with fallen snow and
boughs thick with needles and clawing branches; they camouflaged a
menace that hunted relentlessly from above, demented and fiendish and
hateful, above all else.
He hated everything, everyone and all that his eyes fell upon, with a passion that not even murder could quell, the magic in his dark and twisted soul bent on the destruction of his percieved enemies. He had concocted the most foolproof of plots to catch them, too, and the once proud cervine had claimed so many lives in this manner that he could put the Butcher of Snowdin Wood to shame.
Gyftrot knew better than to challenge the monster himself, naturally… he didn’t relish being disembowled quite so much as his companion did (he swore, some days, that Guy got off on the torture he went through), and valued the game he played more than his own ego.
The little birds and stupid, mindless beasts below suited him and his partner just fine.
Even demons needed their sleep sometimes, of course… and dawning morning found the creature in such a state, many hoofed legs tucked beneath him in the hollow of the tree he had made his home, multiple eyes closed and mouths drooling a mixture of saliva, black sludge, and what could only be pus over the matted fur of his neck.
It would be hours before he stirred, the last of night fading from the deceptively silent forest; his time was the day, the time when the infinitely less intelligent would come to partake of his fine trap.
It was also when those thrice damned dogs would be setting themselves to sleep for the day, full from their own catches.
The less they crossed paths, the better. He still bore the scars on one of his forelegs from an unfortunate meeting with Greater Dog, staying out too close to dusk and venturing too close to the village, to see what had become of it.
He had no such curiosity now. That he been before the master Plan, his ingenious scheme, that worked so well he had never gone hungry in this barren wasteland.
Well… not true, per se. He was always hungry, even when he had eaten far more than his fill. But there was no denying that his methods were cunning, and his execution (heh heh…) swift.
For the moment, though, the scheming, fiendish monster slept on, though, awaiting the dawn the mosses above brought, as well as the regeneration of his “business” partner. They’d both eaten quite well the night before, and Guy’s wounds would be healed before he even stirred.
Demented smiles stretched across Gyftrot’s five mouths, baring teeth sharper than any deer should have and bloody, infected gums above them.
As it always was, and so long as there was prey to be had, as it always would be.