Dustmaw by olegTOB
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Dustmaw earned his name from the gray powder that always seems to follow him — dust from broken stone, shattered bark, and the silent ruins left after a hunt. Among the flock he is known for his patience. While others rush forward, Dustmaw waits, letting the air grow heavy and the ground settle before he moves.
At his belt he carries a flint knife, rough and chipped but carefully maintained. The blade is not large, yet in Dustmaw’s hands it becomes something precise and deliberate. He prefers close distance, where every movement matters and every breath can be heard.
Some say Dustmaw once survived for weeks alone in a storm of stone dust on the edge of the Proto-Silica Forest. In that endless gray silence he learned to move without sound and strike without warning.
There’s something unsettling about Dustmaw,” someone murmurs, glancing over their shoulder. “Not because he’s loud or violent — quite the opposite. Dustmaw moves slowly, patiently, like the desert itself. He waits, and waits… and when everyone else forgets he’s there, that’s when he moves. Old stories say he learned to survive where the wind buries everything.