It is indeed true that he resembles his Mother, far more than he does his sire, having taken only the ebony cape he wears from the blood of his sire and grandparents before him, carrying the muscle of Demetri and Bahamut and Jaye, though the truth of the perfection of his features is born from Jaidah herself, from Apollymi and Woti before her, crafting a façade of infinite beauty to rival even the most exceptional of the Angel line though never would they admit to form ties to a creature doomed to plague this earth until death brings a deliverance, a freedom of his torturous mind. The strong survive, the weak do not, this is the law of the wild, the only law the obsidian demon will adhere too and indeed I has proven true. He alone survives of all the children born to Jaidah and Demetri, he alone has sired another generation, creating life from his seemingly deadened self while the others have simply fallen. They fear him, because he is the truth of this life and the wolves of pack would seek to see otherwise. He is wolf, as no other is and they fear what they cannot understand- and fear is so very tantalizing, a drug to the system, a deeper more potent drive to maim and destroy whatever is foolish enough to allow such a sense to leak from fur and pores of skin. Only the weak fear and fear is a beacon for destruction. Perhaps it is the child’s lack of such a thing that spares her now, the emerald of his gaze passing over her as if she simply does not exist. She is to tall to be a small ne of tender flesh and youthful blood, yet not so tall as to seek to dominate him as others have so foolishly done before. She is protected in this manner, in this loophole of existence by her age, neither fully child nor adult. She simply does not exist to him, he does not hunger and it would seem this day the volatility of his natured is soothed within the silence of the early morning.

His towering form lowers upon the earth, lashing of ebony fur coiling and rolling with the layered muscle beneath, his pelt holding an odour all his own, intermingled with the scent of the red and white one he owns and the children they have beared, though he pays no attention to them, they are meaningless, they live only because they are strong, only because the female had demanded it with flashing fangs and risen heckles and the instinct within himself had become…conflicted. It is nature’s intention that he not destroy what is his own, his own blood must survive- so it had. Those eyes of reptilian emerald continue to stare into the fading darkness as daylight continues to draw nearer, soon to push the blackened creature back into the caves in which he resides, yet for now he waits, unmoving, unblinking as if he simply does not exist upon the plane of being. The girl-child rises to shake herself, one ebony ear turned at this sound though he ignores her still. She is a sub-ordinate, weaker, yet the health of her blood, a stench his nostrils have long since learned to detect is indication that she is not food this day, his fractured mind turned from such thoughts as she approaches. He does not move, he does not turn, yet he knows of her approach, the submission of her stance an accepted thing, a language he perceives as her head lowers and tail sweeps the ground, her form of snow and soot moving to seat itself as she whines a plea that goes unanswered for some moments before his head seems to twist upon it axel, rolling towards her, emerald eyes upon her own as he remains unmoving, like a toy possessed as that head tilts to one side with unblinking ease and he rises abruptly.

It hums within his throat, a deepened, darkened sound, a rumbling growl of warning as he comes towards the child and lips peel back from the white of his fangs as head and tail lift in symbol of his dominance in this, in all things, towering form alone demanding she remain submissive or forfeit her right to exist within his space as he comes forward, closer and closer still as if he seeks to test her very nerve, to push her to precipice and force the scent of fear from her as he liners over and above her. That hissing growl coils within his throat, a deep, heavy sound as he continues to remain over her before that muzzle lowers to press into the thickness of her pelt, her ruff, her scent inhaled as it trails down her spine and he circles her still, heated breath upon her neck, those gleaming white knives so close to spine and throat, so capable of crushing bone and nerves and flesh at will and yet it would seem his inspection is finished, his interest lost once more as he turns from her again. Her presence, for now, is seemingly accepted as he returns to his place, seating himself once more as the growl within his throat dies and his head is lowered to his paws in a gesture of permission. He will allow her, though for how long cannot be said, his temperament dangerously volatile. One eye rolls briefly towards her before his blackened form shifts once more to roll entirely to one side, towering frame stretched out upon the earth in perhaps the rarest moment of. Tobias- at rest.