<font color=430000 face=georgia size=1>YOU SHALL KNOW ME BY THE TRAIL OF BLOOD</font>

Far from causing him unease, the venom she seeks to spit at him with the petulance of a lowly whelp only succeeds in breeding within the devilish monolith the amalgamation of entertainment and irritation. The halfhearted hatred that is the fa�ade to her every syllable holds no meaning for him; he cares for it just as little as he would care for the useless ire of any mindless dullard that might behold the misfortune of his company. A chortle, risen in a gurgled mass from within the confines of his chest, rumbles forth, echoing his amusement and, for those who might claim some manner of familiarity with the perniciousness of his demeanor, alludes to the irritation that tickles away at his brain. He had once taken some not-inconsiderable measure of pride in the bitch before him, for even as a whelp she had displayed far greater promise than her half-siblings, bred into complacency by the blemish of the genetics that differed from hers. And so to hear her return his mockery with a quip harboring even this mild axiomatic disdain for his absence was� frustrating. If Stella could be perturbed by his absence, then whatever modicum of pride he might have spared for her even now seemed to wither as some delicate flower beneath the flame of his agitation. �If you have mourned my absence so fervidly, why is it you have not sought me out?� His words are delivered in level tones, yet another countermove in this would be verbal scrimmage.

The emergence of his newest progeny is hardly perturbing, and he cares so little that it could not be said whether he judges this lingering presence as inopportune. The massive bulk of his cranium shifts only just so as Stella draws her own tattered hide to scrutinize that of her half-sibling, neck twisting incrementally to the side as Maud comes slithering from the undergrowth beyond with all of the finesse of a practiced hunter and positioning herself aside her counterpart. �To presume that you have even an inkling of comprehension as to what has been �keeping� me is an indictment against your reasoning,� he quips, the decidedly matter-of-fact nature of his words eclipsing the mockery that might have been gleaned from them. A single yellowed eye swivels to the countless tiny spires that flare to attention upon the nape of his eldest, the ascension of Stella�s banner noted and discarded in the passing of a single whim. The demonic heathen had never seen the benefit of employing such frivolous decorum, even during his time as King of the river band. He does not move to hinder whatever sense of morbid curiosity has drawn Stella to her brethren; these three younglings all share his genetic code, his vitality� his ferocious desire for the chaotic end to the peace that has too long placated this old Moladion. As such, should they be swayed by the desire to test their vigor upon one another, he would hardly allow them to be dissuaded.

�There shall be culling, my daughter, but it shall not commence with your half-sister�� The syllables ring in some gloriously heinous cacophony for a lingering moment before being swallowed by the pregnant silence of their gathering. Abraxus� eyes flick with unnerving precision to the foliage that serves as some presumed and inoperative shroud for the presence he had sensed even in the moments before her all-too-familiar fragrance had curled against the bulb of his nose. Though he cannot see her, he knows that she lingers just beyond the scope of his vision, and thusly his eyes remain trained with faultless predation upon her hiding place. The silence draws on for but a moment longer before his words slice through the false tranquility as a razor taken to tender flesh. �� for there is far greater weakness afoot.�

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