Obsidian hung all around, draining into his glorious pelt of midnight charcoal then gently flowing off the tip of his banner, help comfortably with a slight curl to the tip. The essence of the calm night hovered after its departure off his little slide, hesitated in the still, pungent air before falling to the trodden mud behind his now distant frame. Slender paws let nothing in their wake, avoiding any damp patches in which his history could be preserved. It wasn’t exactly the best plan of action for a new brute to get tracked and hunted, not that it bothered the demon anyway; he was a monster in his own right, he did whatever the damn he pleased. At the thought his plume gave a slight flick, his ebon kissers pulling up into the self-amused grin that it often displayed, a familiar expression upon his visage, as comfortable there as the fur was laying upon his back. The night was deep and enveloping, as if a sleeping giant had wrapped around the forests, his breath barely audible but still fully there, drawing in and releasing like some ethereal bow of the gods, letting arrows fly at will. Just the perfect night, one black and heavy, illuminated dimly by the crying lights of the heavens and the nearly hidden face of the pale maiden herself, but a crack of her eye in the navy sky. The lean brute drunk in the air like water, fully intoxicating and rich, like a mother’s milk, thick and satisfying as it worked its way into his core. Already he felt at home among the stoic pines, the weeping aspens. His dark form slipped between trees, masked by the shadows of their stems and branches. He was a creature of the land, this land. He breathing was soft and constant, balancing timing and volume, the ways of a soul who had too much to think about and yet nothing at all.
It hadn’t been very long since he stumbled upon this land, paws landing on seemingly enchanted earth, a sense of… expected wonder racing up his shortly haired fores. Sure, most Varg dove head first into these forests, but Serris had bided his time, like the good little boy he was, letting the forest discover him, pick him apart, and finally accept him. It was better that way, to let the trees open up to him themselves. That way a soul could be more connected to the land he was trespassing on. That way the forest would actually help him in times of need instead of denying him acceptance like it did with most of the other strangers that trampled upon its roots. Really, he was only being considerate of his Mother, and really most of the sorry saps who thought they were really in touch with her had another thing coming. They had not grown up cradled in her loamy arms, warmed by a blanket of spring leaves and downy moss. But, debatably, neither had he, but that didn’t deny the fact that he knew the world better than any behind him and many before him. That would aid him one day; it already had, but he felt something important brewing in the ash clouds above his life. With the wide, reaching branches of the poplars it was growing harder and harder to see the danger in their murky depths.
He had been wandering, almost aimlessly, mindlessly, just letting his paws run free beneath him. Every once and a while he would cross a game trail or the trickling pool of a tributary, amble past it with only a mild recognition of its presence, the least he could do for soiling its ground. What was he looking for, if that was indeed his purpose within these wide, mountain-set perimeters? Surely it was something important or the back of his skull wouldn’t be itching so much, prickling like a cactus shoved beneath his skullcap. Shaking his head absently he pushed forward, soon approaching a pack, and then another, with the scent of even more foreign urine wafting through the air. Four packs, and close together, converging around a central stream that ran through of beside them all. It was a good setup really; water was life, especially for a large pack, and as any sensible leader should know a river would be most convenient for his, or her, pack to sample from. The first two packs he wandered near didn’t exactly impress him. Now, not that the packs weren’t impressive, they just didn’t seem to fit the raven he-beast. Mojo and all that crap. So he simply continued on, toned silhouette slipping along the edges of scent borders, careful to never set a foot over the invisible lines. That offended some wolves. He thought the lyrics with a giddy snicker, nose curling up in a silent laugh, skin wrinkling like ripples in a pool of rainwater. Ah yes, this was turning out to be quite the excellent night.
[Cont.]
S E R R I S
Demon | Adult | Packless | Loveless | Mindless | Mimi
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