<font color=999967 size=1 face=arial>it doesn't exist if you can hide it behind your teeth.</font>

how long will we blame the devils on our shoulders

Such a quick response. I had not expected such a thing, had become used to the more complacent patrol efforts of others and as such, I cannot help but allow an amused grin to form as I hear the distinct pitter patter of paws in the dark. It takes but seconds, it seems, for the white figure before me to materialize, circling me for some moments before settling. All the while, I merely watch, observing his stride, his stance - all those things that create an impression. I cannot pass a judgement, perhaps, but I cannot be rest assured that where my youth has produced a tall body and muscles thick and powerful, his age has not done such a thing. He is unlike Amir in that sense, and unlike me; tall, yes, but lean and frail almost, a wisp of white in the breeze. That is his strength, though, I am sure. To lure somebody such as myself into believing mere strength will prevail... that is a strength in itself. Is that what he is doing? Testing? Prodding? Peacocking his strengths so that I might reconsider whatever purpose I might have? Again, a bemused smile, though this one seems to ignite some form of... emotion in him. It is brief, but enough to make me suspicious.

He speaks then, his words accusative and sharp. For some time, I merely let them rest upon my ears and tongue, tasting the agitation in their syllables. I ponder it, even. My reason? That I do not even know. I only seek to begin to fill in the holes of my soul - to empty the world into the ever growing void within me. I seek to fill it with earth, blood, flesh, lust - anything, everything. It is a weakness in itself and I desire to cull it. That is why I am here, I suppose. I want to begin taking bites off of this world. I want to begin to take my fill. It it almost enough of a thought to make me salivate but rather, I take a tentative step forward, testing his resolve. It is then that I speak, hoping to distract him with my words as I gain that additional foot between us, slowly bridging the space. Is that a palpitation I feel?

"Esurientes," - hungry, I tell him - "for no reason. To see. To feel. This place... what would you say? What is it?"

I look idly about us, to the trees and to the far off seas beyond the horizon, now cloaked in true darkness. Time is a strange thing like that; it is as if the tension that begins to buzz between us like flies on a carcass slows the space around us. Our words travel fast and yet, the sun sinks slower and slower. How will he answer? How will I feel? There is a drop of water in my stomach, subtle but the ripples move across the surface nonetheless. Perhaps he will return to his den a king tonight. There's always a perhaps.

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