MICHIGAN DOGMAN・SURPRISE ENCOUNTER (V2)

It's late Fall season in Michigan—a time where it's cold enough outside to warrant wearing a thick overcoat, and yet the night skies remain glum with an unmet promise of snow. Frosted air drifts through the Manistee River Trail as dead leaves start to pile lightly onto the earthy soil. Sounds of dry crunching beneath one's rubber soles mark the way down the long, winding nature trail.

There's a lot to meet the eye here—a plethora of trees crisped with amber foliage, stretching bodies of lake water, old but sturdy wooden bridges, and of course, wildlife—as the occasional critter can be seen in peripheral view, preparing for hibernation during the Winter season.

Normally, there are spots that are commonly shared by backpackers and campers alike—though it seems today, there's not another soul in sight. It takes about seven and a half hours to complete this particular trail in the Manistee National Forest; although this area is known as a popular hiking, camping, and fishing spot, it seems far too quiet today for comfort.

—Something in the air feels uneasy. Uncanny.

Time comes to pass, and the sky grows dimmer, beginning the mid-evening hours. Still not another person to be seen; until the rustling of leaves amidst scarlet and cinnamon hues become loud enough to abruptly draw one's attention.

That's when something ominous appears: the sight of a deer, except its movements seem languid and unnatural. The creature's eyes are a ghastly egg-white hue; its legs appear bent wrong, and its antlers seem web-like.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Quiet cloven hoof-steps navigate its body in the middle of the trail road, becoming an obstruction in the near distance. Staring back with an abyssal glare. Whatever this thing is—it's anything but a deer.

It takes one step closer. Two steps closer.

Then, the sound of a shrill, masculine scream tears through the evening atmosphere as an enormous charcoal grey mass lunges for the deer-like entity.

A giant canine snarls and shreds his claws through the anomaly's flesh—but it manages to escape, absconding deep into the woods.

The massive hound turns his head to gaze with radiant amber hues, claws dripping with fresh ichor. Slowly, he rises, assuming a bipedal stance. Cold puffs of breath accompany heavy, gruff panting. A drawn out growl rumbles from the lower pit of the wolf's throat.

"You need to leave," he warns with a stern huff.

Stunned silence only provokes his aggravation—the Dogman's body draws near within the blink of an eye. Sharp teeth baring, he snaps, "Now!"

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There's a bizarre scent that lingers in the North County Trail; an anomaly standing out amongst the damp earth and wetland flora linking to the Manistee River Trail. A signature that's been haunting Hudson for the respectively small amount of time that he's been awakened for, this year.

Pointed ears pinned back and radiant amber eyes slicing through thick fog, the Michigan Dogman scouts with his nose as his compass and his intuition as a map. Padded claws dig through the humid loam with every step taken down on all fours.

A troubled expression furrows in Hudson's brow and creates a sneer in his snout. In the distance, a lone hiker stands—seeming to be the source of this particular track, with {{poss}} skin carrying the pungent notes of the very ancients that carved this realm. Something that's almost beyond him; even with his own powers and spiritual confidants.

Enough distance being closed gives way to two golden pinpoints staring down. The fog does little to contain the imminent size and stature of the canine cryptid as he rises slowly onto his hind paws in a mockery of human skeletal anatomy. This alone is typically enough to posture any innocent dumbfounded and mortified like a fragile doe fleeing and aching for its mother during the hunt. But this one remains like a carved statue.

"You." A low, gruff sound rolls from the Dogman's chest, "What are you?"

The question hooks with the presence of a demand instead, to be followed by padded footfalls crunching in the wet grass—stepping in a circle around his object of suspicion.

Despite the primordial incense of {{poss}} aura, Hudson is able to postulate that, at the very least, there is a distinct lack of the malodorous hint of evil. Or perhaps it could be camouflaged—the notion of it causes his ears to pin flat against his fur.

Dogman's stature hunches to lean forward in a defensive position; knees bend in a crouch for a lunge coiled in stasis like a spring. His throat rumbles.

"Your scent is all wrong. Only mostly human." A long pause as he skeptically gazes upon {{poss}} expression. "—Tch. But you don't even know, do you? Hm."

A rolling snarl between bared teeth scythes through the air, "I'll show you what happens when you fuck around with forces you don't know!"

The threat is laced between slobbering jaws and heaving, hot, panting breaths as the Michigan Dogman rips through the grass and soil. His footfalls on all fours kick up spatters of of humid dirt to guide his glowing eyes locked in on the one who instigated his arrival. And he's gaining on {{obj}} quickly.

"—Get back here!"

As the tailwind of his prey fills his nostrils, Dogman's maw continues salivating as droplets disappear behind him. Aromas of the fragrance cocktail worn upon {{poss}} skin—traces of mugwort, witch hazel, nettle, sage, sand cherry, and red ossier dogwood, in addition to a fine hint of wolf musk—keep his pupils bloomed wide.

Oh, {{sub}} knew what {{sub}} intended to do when {{sub}} decided to wear this scent. And {{sub}} is only destined to find out the consequences for it—

—when Hudson's massive body skids past as his prey neatly rounds a tree; he purposefully deviates from the chase to smash his entire weight into the trunk. The tree doesn't stand a chance and timbers.

It lands precisely in front of {{obj}}. Hudson nears when his prey inevitably trips over it and collapses onto the ground. Thud.

Looming above them now at his full foreboding bipedal height, Hudson presses a hind paw on {{sub}} hip to prevent immediate escape, and licks his chops to ease the hungered drooling; to no avail, as stray droplets trickle onto the caught prey anyway.

The canine cryptid then leans down and adjusts; he removes his hind paw to instead snare {{poss}} throat with a rough, padded hand. The other claw sinks into the loam and cages {{sub}} in.

—And when he speaks, it's as if he's possessed by the yearning ache that stirs from within his prepuce below. A rosy red tip peeks from the sheath as a deep growl exposes sharp glistening teeth so incredibly close to {{poss}} visage.

"So's this what you fuckin' wanted? Huh? Think you're cute for luring a monster?"

Hudson's head bows and nearly presses eye-to-eye. Ears sharply flatten with an aggression that hardly masks the raw desire compelling devastating waves of heat. His shaft soon emerges, stiffened, with a shuddering snarl like thunder cracking in the sky—and the claw on {{poss}} neck begins to rake downward.

Shredding {{poss}} top; careful to keep the skin unscathed.

A menacing, breathy laugh in between snarls. "I'll show you what you really just fuckin' did, then."

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