it is always there.
A manic look in his eyes. Hunger, power. A forceful edge to those etched pieces of burning topaz. A dark, cold smile hovering brilliantly over his shadowed lips, the promise of a growl building in his broad chest and aching in his throat. He is not mad. He is misguided and power hungry. Somehow, however, Dancer has found that living a loner's life is not quite as bad as he had originally expected. There is a sense of freedom, something that is surprising after carrying the responsibilities of alphaship on his shoulders for so long. However, he craves for a pack. The instincts nested within his blood call so loudly for companionship that he has been here for the past hour or so, padding among the thick trees with indecision sparking in his tawny eyes. The black male treks warily, enormous paws leaving an obvious trail in his wake. Dancer doesn't give a damn though, and keeps his nose thrust in the air and his chin lifted, his tail arched over his back and his stroll a stately trot. Dancer is, to say in the least, stunning.
There is a predatory laziness about him, a heavy, confident presence. His muscles shift beneath his flesh as he moves, coiled like snakes in his powerful legs and shoulders. A thick, inky black pelt crawls in glossy streams down his bulky, though somehow lean frame - a perfect balance between agility, speed, and strength.
Then the eyes.
It is always the eyes. His are glittering and swirling and golden, a devilish lilt to his strong, commanding gaze. He uses them for purposes that might be bizarre to the average lupine - and it has nothing to do with raping a lonely female.
Malignant Felicity is where he is standing. Dancer is no fool when it comes to the packs of Blossom Forest. Of them all, Malignant may be both the strongest and the most feared. The bloodthirsty, the mysterious, the angry, the shadows, they all lurk here, beyond these borders. Overhead the thin, sickly forms of crows circle, loud caws grating the air angrily, tangling together in a disgusting cacophony of noise as they wait for their next meal - fool.Sorry, boys, you won't be getting any of that tonight. for good measure, he snaps one particularly daring one which hovers near him from the air, hearing the satisfying crunches and snaps of breaking bones. He spits the mangled lump of filth and feathers before him, staring at it for a moment while ridding his mouth of the horrid metallic taste which came with its blood. Bitter and vile - to be honest, Dancer doesn't understand cannibalism or an obsession with blood. This bird just so happens to taste like deer shit. Hopefully, he will not have to mingle with too many of those who enjoy the taste of lupine.
He stands at the edge of the border then, his posture not threatening and submissive - but Dancer refuses to roll over. Well, he might have, except the dark form of a female is near him; Queens? Her face is broken but a bit of a smile is on her gorgeous features when she glances at a bundle of pup. Dancer has nothing against pups, he simply has no use for them. And from what he's heard, Queens and her little minions aren't particularly fond of them. Huh.
'you can't ever escape it,' Dancer says, knowing she can hear him. His voice is husky but not too deep, a lilting, exotic tint to it.'the heartbreak, the madness. queen Queens, you are looking lovely today.' he knows there is a high risk of being attacked, but Dancer says what he wants to, when he wants to. And if he gets mauled so be it.
'you do not look in the mood for foolery - so perhaps i can request you this: perhaps you might be able to welcome me into your ranks?' he suggests, and then he anticipates the questions that are to come. Once they are asked (hopefully) he answers.
'i am known as...' a pause as his lip lifts in an angry sneer.'Dancer. and what i shall bring to the pack, perhaps we can wait and see?'