The frozen colored teen walked through a densely padded forest. His cold blue eyes were pointed straight forward in concentration. Mudo never spoke, he kept himself in deadly silence. He was well muscled, and could be considered very handsome, unless, of course, you saw his face. Half of it had been, ripped and torn away. It could look menacing to some, but apparently certain fems thought it actually looked... good...
It's not like he cared. His heart was locked with a key that had been destroyed in a raging fire, hotter than the center of the sun. The sky was made of black velvet, clouds covering where little peeping holes would have been for the stars. He had only been to the lake once, and he found it calming. As long as no one else was there, though the darkness usually kept wolves away, and those who came kept to themselves.
You wouldn't believed what was in his head, or, maybe you would. Drums, beating every second of his life, ever since his mother's body had been entangled with blood and broken, beaten limbs. Four beats pounded in his head, never stopping, never ending. It's what drove him on, for he knew that not even death itself could stop the drums. If he was dead, he would be useless, he would probably go insane. If he wasn't already. Though, so many wolves said that if your insane you won't know it. To Mudo, that was good, for he could keep living his life without worry. Except that worry would be there forever, never ending as the drums.
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