He had moved on. There was little left but bones and bloodstains, not exactly enough for a full grown wolf to live off. It had done him well for a few days but no corpse is immune to festering and soon his bounty became quite worthless. For the length of a day, the brute watched as life took its course and the bodies were swarmed by beetles and flies. Occasionally, a crow or an insectivorous bird would drop by and take easy pickings off the undulating mess of bugs and rotten meat, but they were ever wary of the thing that lurked in the shadows, his yellow eyes gleaming in sunlight or moonshine. By the latest hours of the evening, the bodies were crawling with maggots, new birth of the undertakers. The cycle was complete, or nearly so, and it was time to take his leave.
The old, craggy moors were scarce of prey these days. Crows followed in his wake, cackling and jesting loudly as he traveled over the barren land in a single, straight line. Every evening, one would land by his sleeping body and cautiously watch to see if he was breathing. Perhaps they thought he would die, fall limp any day now from exhaustion and hunger. It would have been the most probably of assumptions, as both large and small game had not been seen for miles around. Most predators were starving to death out on the wastelands, but Azazel was not like most. He had dined- no, he had feasted before his travels had begun and it would be several more days before a hunger built into fatigue. By that time, he would have been clear of the moor. Of this he had made certain, as it would had to have been so if he was to survive.
It had taken six days to escape the barren moors, six days without food and with only the morning dew upon the low growing vegetation to sustain him, but he had made it out. Beyond the moor had stretched grassy braes dusted with wildflowers and stretches of heather carpets. The skies overhead held only few clouds, the sun shining brightly over the hillsides and painting the country in brilliant shades. It was a brand new experience for the wolf and he savored it, slowing his pace through this strange bit of wilderness and studying the new things about him. Bees were especially fascinating, a brightly striped yellow and black insect that buzzed from flower to flower instead of preying upon other bugs or vying for leftover meat. What a surprise, though, that such a pacified thing would sport its own inborn weapon. He had gotten too close, prodded a small bee upon a flower and received a painful sting to his muzzle in return. It seemed that these things, so insignificant and small, were much more deserving of respect than the scavengers he was used to.
Hare had dotted the hills, a prey that had been gone from his old home for nearly a year, and he had found it most pleasing to hunt the small, quick animals once again. A wolf his size, forty-one inches at the shoulder, was normally ill-equipped to take down such a fast, minute target, but Azazel had outlasted all prey on the moor and there was something to be said for that. He was tall, yes, but his body was lean and toned with hard muscle that didn’t come from inactivity. For all of his height, he was maybe one-hundred and sixty pounds without a pinch of extra weight on his frame. He could be quick when he wanted to be, his body excelling at explosive energy and sudden strengths, and had built stamina from long treks for a single meal. Out on the moor, survival was befriended only by those most suited, those who would do whatever it would take to meet their goals.
Three weeks ago, Azazel had left his homeland in search of more sustainable living. His travels through the hills had been slow, but fruitful as he had preyed upon the rabbits and other small mammals that surfaced from their underground homes. There had been a particularly large slope, perhaps the tail end of a mountain range that flattened into grasslands and in the distance a peculiar barrier of ridges that brought to him the smell of lush greenery and water. He had followed that scent, for water was the most important resource for all life. Where there was water, there would be comfort and he had never smelled a comfort so promising.
There was no doubt in his mind, as he crested the western ridge of the crater, that this was his new home. His sharp yellow eyes gazed out at the stretching landscape, expression cool and curious as he surveyed the indent that seemed to stretch on forever until it was lost in mist and clouds. Bodies of water, rivers, forests, grasslands… Everything seemed to be here, cupped into one bowl of earth like the mythical Garden of Eden, drawing him in from every angle. He would stay here, find his fortune in this spectacle of life. He would prosper, for that was what he had decided.
White paws worked their way down a steep, rocky decline, following in the direction of the sound of crashing water. There had been no waterfalls in the moor, but the sound was something so inborn and instinctual, he knew it instantly. The face of the ridge was, perhaps, treacherous, but Azazel picked through it swiftly with sure paws until he came before a stretch of caves that paralleled the curve of the crater, high above the valley below and opened, like windows, to the scenery below every ten or so yards. He walked within this cavernous hall of sorts, cool and damp in the late spring afternoon, the tinkling echo of water drawing him further along until he came to a stop before one of the wide, stone framed portals and stared with fascination at the curtain of crystalline water that fell before it.
With care, the wolf approached, his paws slow on the wet stone to prevent himself from slipping into the forceful fall of liquid. His whiskers twitched as spray bounced off the rocks and flecked his charcoal and silver ridged coat, slowly beading along his coarse, spiky timber fur. Azazel reached out to the shimmering curtain with his nose, holding his breath as water pummeled the bridge. In a quick motion, he ducked his head under the water up to the base of his neck and pulled back out, nerves elated by the sudden blast of cold. He shook off, lips pulling back in a lupine smirk, and walked around the next pillar to another open window to the valley where he sat in a pool of sunlight and enjoyed the light spray of the waterfall that crashed endlessly to the valley below. His coat glistened in the light, the red ring of fur before his shoulder dampened like a fresh bloodstain. This was where he would make his home, for now, high above those who dwelled below in his own castle of stone and water.