He continues to work with diligent authority at what remains of his prize, stripping at flesh and bone as teeth crunch and slide in this violent dance as he does that which he does best- he consumes. For indeed the creature is much like the blackness of his pelt, he encompasses, obliterates and surrounds those who fall victim to the predation of his mind in the shadow and oblivion of his presence. Yet they do not thank him, these vile, sinful wolves, no, they seek to drive him away, they spurn his presence and come against him with fang and claw when indeed all he seeks to do is remove the weakness from this earth, from their packs and bloodlines. He does to them a kindness as he did to those ravaged, broken bodies that lay dead and dying after the fall of the sky. He had come upon them, one by one, those already dead and those to weak to keep up with the wolves who travelled, male, female, child- it mattered not. He stripped the weakness from this earth, he helped them when they could not help themselves, swayed by their own pity for the weak in a way he is not, for he is bound by no emotion, cannot be controlled by the reckless foolishness of his own heart and as such he is true to his nature as others are not. Perhaps they see him truly as a nightmare upon this earth, a scourge, a disease and yet- he is as they should be. He is perfection, he is true wolf, power and instinct and hunger and that is why that cannot stand against him.
He knows she draws near, whatever tattered shred of a soul he possesses feels the coming of her presence in the way he feels all that stems from her. He cannot perceive her sentiment, cannot fathom any depth of emotion and yet, he comes this day as he came the day she grieved, when her emotional force becomes powerful enough, strong enough- to summon him from the depths of Moladion though he hardly knows why he comes. He remains reclined, for he does not fear any whom call this land home, he is above them and as such allows his powerful, hardened frame to bask in the weak sun of the winter as his nostrils taste of the air and alert the creature to the females presence as her white form emerges from within to place itself before him, the dead, blankness to his gaze fixating upon her in this moment before he returns silently to his meal. He is satisfied this winter, he desires well met and indeed as such his nature is given to be soothed in some fashion, his temperament more placated then usual though indeed his lip lifts sightly at her approach, refusing to allow her within his personal space and near the meal he has deemed his own.
He does not believe she is as Flare, the words she allows to infect the air a symbol of this as a growl rumbles with displeasure in his throat at her musings, his mind piecing together the words she offers though his ability to perceive sarcasm is limited indeed as his eyes once more rest on her own, the hiss and scratch of his throat seeing the air rush from his lungs in a sickening growl-like motion though indeed it becomes evident that this is his attempt at speech, his words un-used in so long, the damage to his throat only further worsening the sound as it slips like a hiss from his lips.
“What…..do you….want?”
He does not understand that she has summoned him unknowingly, he has come to the call of her soul to his own through no desire of she, this part of herself having raised the creature from the depths of darkness to come to her side, for she alone retains this power, a power he deplores and presses firmly against, he detests this touching of souls, this inability to sink his fangs within her flesh and yet his mind has fixated upon her indefinitely, has come to view her as his own position and perhaps something not to be consumed. The last of his meal is devoured, muscle rolling beneath his blackened frame as the dark prince rises once more, his hulking, tall frame pressed forward abruptly towards her, invading her space, her earlier gesture of ownership ignored as he comes, gaze fixated firmly against the white of her limb, stained in the scarlet of her earlier meal as his jaws reach for it abruptly, seeking to lick it clean, seeking some form of touch from this female though he knows it not as he reaches again for her limb and red that stains it.
“You…called.”
He states it again, voice dead, broken, flat and nothing more, demanding a reason for his presence as the black of his pelt blends briefly with the snow of her own, his hunger for her flesh sated in this moment by his satisfaction in this winter though indeed his tail still raises with dominance in this, forcing her compliance, demanding she accept his presence near her in this moment, soothing the distant ache in his own soul.