#v much a Give Hob A Dog fic. The dog in question is a death omen but sometimes life is just like that.

[goldflinches]

swear by the dog (snippet)

Summary:

What is a death omen to an immortal? A friend.

And to an Endless? What it is. Nothing more, nothing less.

(or: a Barghest bears witness to the life and loves of an immortal.)

---

Square/Prompt: C2 - Creature: Barghest | @dreamlingbingo

Rating: Mature

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Warnings: Outsider POV (From the Barghest POV), Blood and Injury, Descriptions of Dog Bites, Hob Gets Better, No Dream In This Snippet (But We'll Get There Eventually!)

---

This is not their first meeting, the Barghest and this deathless human.

This hunting (haunting) ground was an old one and they are hardly new prey. But. Between the slabs of stones was a pile of rags, pungent with the dirt, sweat, and tears. A growl of hunger not been sated for a long time. A body that decays but refuses to finish the cycle. An delicious bevy of aromas. The pile turned to look with his large brown eyes, cloudy with exhaustion. The prey's eyes became clearer when focused on the Barghest.

Old prey, new prey, it does not mind.

This old human, this prey scrambles. The Barghest is a hulking thing, shadow and teeth lengthening with every step it takes towards him. The prey’s back hits one of carved stone slabs and the Barghest practically tastes its next meal. He raises his arm up in a panic (delicious, delicious panic) and the Beast sinks its teeth into it. Bites into meat of arm. Tastes blood, savors the meat seasoned with desperation.

Until the bite meets bone. Then an overwhelming sweetness overpowers everything. A wrongness at the heart of it. The Barghest immediately lets go, whining and spitting, shaking its shaggy head hoping to get the cloying taste out of its nose and mouth. All through it, the prey holds its ground, covered with blood, teeth bared in pain. The sourness of pain and panic is tempting but the Barghest knows better. A whine breaks from its mouth, the cloying sweetness stuck to its palette. Closes its eyes and A sound shuffling to its side. Hard breathing. A scent that loses its sharpness. A long moment where it is just the Beast and wrong, bad taste that keeps staying. Long, long moments where it lays on bloodied weeds and chews on the grass.

The taste stays and stays.

Suddenly, the scent is back. Dried blood atop freshly spilled blood, dried sweat mingling the sickly sweetness of life everlasting. A hand soothing its snout and another nudging something between its teeth.

“Come now, little beastie. Something to wash the taste out of your mouth,” the not-prey murmurs. Another, more forceful nudge. A whiff of a clean spring water makes the Barghest open its jaw incrementally, baring a bit of tooth. As a reminder. A sigh from the not-prey-anymore. “Yes, yes they’re very sharp little beastie. I didn’t forget you trying to take a piece my arm just a moment ago.” The cool water dripped into its mouth, clearing the taste and making it easier to breathe again.