Styla
A night covered in layers upon layers of smoke-filled fog made an already dense forest not the safest place for a girl like Styla to plunge through. Yet, slowing down wasn’t an option for her at that exact moment. She couldn’t say specifically what she saw through the bushes, but the closest thing that she could come to were eyes that appeared to be burning with fiery red flames. As she witnessed these all-consuming, scorching pits watching her every move, she backed up slowly, so as not to trip on any of the old Cypress Knees lazily shooting from the wet earth. Her racing heart made her feel as though she were running backwards. It seemed like she would jump out of her skin at any given moment.
Then it growled.
Mug's Tale 