There was something drawing him to the riverside today, a restless energy that set deep into his bones and left him with a silent hum through his marrow. To be honest it had been a boring week for Enderly. He had grown tired of the lack of purpose in his life, the lack of chaos and uncertainties and hidden agendas. Naamah did not love him. She desired him and there was a deep degree of affection for him but he had finally come to the altering conclusion that his tantrums would do nothing. She would not leave Samil to be with him, despite how he had doted upon her, despite that they shared a child together, and her belly was now swollen with the child of Samil. No. Competing was not even an option anymore so he had set out away from the grotto with his ears laced back and the need to find something else to occupy his time for it was time to move beyond his obsession with her. For a brief moment he considered visiting Stella - she'd certainly be a distraction. A distraction of teeth and claws and the violent urge to end her for being such a bitch, but he decided it wasn't in his best interest today to pick a fight with his imprint.

So here he was with the river trickling along and the trees wrapping in close to the water before pulling back. His silver eyes eye the way the world seems to fall in such random intervals, the way the moss grows on the right bank but does not perch itself on the left, the way the trees do not all seek out the tender nutrients closer to the river. It is much like the relationships around him, varying and with no real degree of truth. He had cherished lies and secrets - it seemed almost like a slap in the face that he should be blinded by his own desire.

Enderly is a lean figure with shiny black fur that seems to ripple in the sunlight. Silver hairs fleck his tail and maw that match his canny eyes. For a male Enderly is quite short, standing at only 30 inches, but he is fast and keen. And he is utterly bored in this instant. Strolling along did nothing for him; the faint stench of the marshlands close by made him wonder about Nakki, made him wonder about all the chaos that he could cause the wolves around him, and he is tempted to begin such a feat if only for something to do.

As such thoughts race to his head, though, he catches the undercurrent that is of stale, dried bone, and his body angles instinctively towards a spot beneath a tall oak tree. The roots are wide and spread out and he pauses between two such roots, his nose twitching. There is no sign of anything there and yet his nose tells more than anything. His claws begin to tear the dirt away with abandon. This exercise is a good excuse to burn some tension, and he kicks the dirt out with a vicious sort of satisfaction, his teeth reaching into yank out fresh threads of new root sprouts, until his claws hit the dirty shaft of a leg bone.

There is triumph on his face as he looks down upon it, his claws scratching around it to unearth the hidden object, and for a moment he feels almost himself. And for a moment he wishes for company so he lifts his head and makes a short call that ends in a bark, a whimper, so very close to the tactic he used in the beginning - the noise would make others think that he is injured and some good soul might rush to his side....