* * *
The eyes of the frogs, crickets, and other night ramblers who watched Cane from beyond the timbers were presently joined by another pair—the ghoul had found its way to the trailer.
Its eyes were was cold and unblinking.
Its eyes were dead and did not belong.
Its eyes studied the naked man hurrying into the trailer with quite a bit of interest. Deep inside of the decrepit husk that encased its rotting soul a yearning swelled. It was a primitive urge-a hungering for fraternity.
Slowly and laboriously it began to drag itself through the briars, weeds, and boggy earth surrounding Cane's home. A trek across the newly mowed yard would surely prove to be quicker and less difficult, but it couldn't risk being seen until the moment it chose to reveal itself was hither.
Onward it writhed. Ants bit, mosquitoes dove into bloodless flesh, and thorns tore into unfeeling limbs. Still, it was methodical as it wormed its way through the woodland.
The Peacock Angel: Rise of the Decarchs Page 16