So it ever was. So will it always be. Such is the nature of evil.
Socializing was not a strong suit of Underidge nor was it something that he enjoyed doing. There were a select few wolves that he might actually like spending time with that those could be counted on one paw: Sarabi, Achlys, and Eden. Everyone else was just an irritation to his mind for they all had habits that grated on his nerves. Talking, laughing, teasing, such purposeless, mindless noise. He preferred the solitude of his own being and was often spied deep within the thickness of the foliage in Glorall. Even the roar of the ocean irked him, drawing him out of slumber in a cantankerous mood, and he had decided that he simply must get away from it today. There was, of course, the other facet of puppies crying. It made his teeth ache with the need to squish their vocal boxes until they could yip no more. Better to leave before he did something to piss of the king.
Underidge is lanky with long legs and a thin body; he is not quite as defined in muscle as Enderly is for he carries about him the look of a teenager who did not eat enough. Still, he was powerful in his own right even with his slender looking build. He had managed to cull all the winter fur from his body by constant rubbing against the bark of trees so the uneven surface would grip and tear away that unsightly fur but he was still left with a few patches around his hips where it was coming out. As long as it didn't itch the daylights out of him Underidge quite honestly couldn't care less. Silver fur was dull beneath the sun with flashes of the dark undercoat to make it seem like shadows beneath his fur - the shadow of the god that resided within him. The only god that Underidge would ever listen to.
Eerie silver eyes flick around as the obnoxious cry of a male echos across the area. He almost turns in the opposite direction yet there is a need within him that burns and drives him towards the rapidly growing group. It is a need to sink his teeth into something. The god within him stirs and he can feel as it burns in his veins, eager to find a new soul to claim so he moves until he stands in the shadow of a tree to watch the procession. Males and females group here and there, slithering words and tension ratcheting, and his eyes fall to the small girl who slaps at the water and screams at it. Frailty and weakness. Is that what she thinks of herself?
It is her that drives him out where they can see him, moving in an uneven walk towards her with his attention rapt.
"I can end your weakness, you have only to say the word," he says, his voice rising and falling in parts where they aught not to and he waits, wishing she would demand he kill her and eager to do it.
UNDERIDGE
THREE - MALE - NO HEART - OPHELIA'S SOUL
OF GLORALL - ENDERLY X BANSHEE - KILL COUNT (II)