Empty eyes watch as the wind ripples through the trees of this place, the whispering seeming to speak of something, but this is not the language this wolf speaks. He cannot speak tree, or wind, or river. He speaks need, the need to hunt, to drink, to sleep. He feels instinct for survival kick in, that need to once more satiate the beast clawing at his gut, that want for the warm spray of blood he gets across his muzzle. Yes, this day, Jumanji will hunt. His skinny frame a testament to how many days he has spent traveling and nothing more, his paw pads now grind to hard rough patches of skin on his feet. He moves through the shadows, the white of his legs flashing in the sunlight as he goes, the black toes of his paws sinking into the leaf litter, soaked with the dew and rain of early morning.

Once on the move, those gold and jade eyes scan over the bushy undergrowth of the woodlands. Birds sing overhead, crickets can be heard singing their fall time songs. It is then that, too late, he hears the tell-tale rush of bush, that momentary silence and then feels the impact of another body crashing into him. Surprise filters through his system, cold shock and a bit of pain as he is sent stumbling away a few feet, his reflexes firing left and right to keep him topside. His Irish gaze flicks to the mass of dark colored fur that had knocked his sideways, a mean glare on his face and a nastier snarling smile. As her tail lifts, so does his, a ritualized posturing. Jumanji had such posture matches with his two brothers, Judas and Covet, when they were younger. His gaze never wavers from the dark form of the girl, some recognition of her taking place within his fathomless eyes.

His monochrome cranium tilts, brows furrowing together as he looks over the familiar black girl. "I know you...from somewhere..." His voice is full of gravel, words halted as if he must truly contemplate his phrasing. He has not spoken since his mother left him in those strange lands beyond Moladion's extensive borders. His eyes narrow on her, frame growing stiff as he moves toward her, gait stilted as he raises himself above her. His head dips, ears pricked forward as he takes in her scent, invading her space as he recognizes the unique perfume she wears. "Yes...Caligula, once of Iromar, yes?" Again the deep graveled tones ring out against the stillness of the morning. A wave of his steel flag gives her approval, whether bidden or not, she will not be challenged today. His dominance apparently satisfied at having invaded her personal bubble.

It is then that his gold and jade gaze is cast upon the strange form of a white female, his tail once more going toward the sky and his ears moving back on his skull. She speaks, her tones light though they held a bit of dark mystery to them that Jumanji simply could not get out of his head. "At least it is better to see my face, rather than watching my tail all this time." He lets a sly grin play across his sooty lips, an eyebrow lifting to reveal his jest. Yes, he has known for some time that there was another stalking along behind him, though he made no motion to cease her shadowing. She looks like the one who his mother killed, the very male who had seen him banished to the outer lands, his mother trying to protect him from her crimes. Sunlight is of no importance to the male, though indeed he does notice the effect it has on the pristine white of the pallid female's coat.

He reclines once more to his haunches, muscles rolling beneath his thickening pelt as he moves. If she thought him and easy meal, she thought dead wrong. Jumanji has lived his life raised by a demented cannibal, he was reared on the meat of his peers, and indeed this was his first true meal. After Jaidah weaned him and his siblings, she brought them pieces of her wolven kills, giving each of them a taste for wolf meat at an early age. Play your game, Lurid and Caligula, make Jumanji's day.