:::not here for my _{confessionals:::}

It was a midsummer's night in Moladion. The air hung thick and syrupy about the grasses and not a breath of wind disturbed the oppressive atmosphere. Even those animals that frequented the darkness lay prostate in their dens, oblivious to the thin sliver of moon that hung in the inky black sky, its opalescent sheen having faded to a sickly green halo. The blackness was almost complete, and it shrouded the thirsty soil like a mourner's veil, soupy and unyielding. Despite her better judgement, a young female wolf had wondered into the ominous night to lap at the refreshing waters of the lake, noisily sating her burning thirst. Unfortunately for her, she had focused all her attention on the task at hand, and failed to even once glance about her. If she had, she may have noticed the shadows behind her grow dense and coalesce into something more solid than mere air, something with teeth that glinted dimly in the pale light the thin moon provided. It sidled closer to her frame, silent as the grave, its yellow-red eyes shut to evil slits lest they give it away. And still the young bitch drank, the cold scent of the waves scouring her nostrils of the presence of the stalker that shrewdly closed in on her. Only when she felt the shocking pain of canines meeting in her scruff did she realised her error. With a yelp she turned to get at her assailant, but he kept out of her reach, trapping her between his forelegs and holding her in a vice-like grip. She was young yet, and inexperienced, not even old enough to have had her first heat, but it mattered not to the one who clasped her. Indeed it only aided him, for she was unequipped to deal with his silent strike, and could only whine helplessly as he forced himself on her. He moved rhythmically until her moaning rose to a shriek as the pain became unbearable. He tightened his grip on her and jerked her neck roughly, savouring the taste of her blood on his tongue while he tried to quiet her. A savage bark over to his right told him he was too late, and he reluctantly released his delicate prize before turning on a dime and fleeing the scene, tail between his legs and back lowered as one would expect of a German Shepard dog. He raced until the sounds of pursuit faded behind him and he was alone with his residual pleasure.

Tired from his exertion, the male flopped onto his side in the grass and began to lick himself clean, tasting the sweet fruits of his labour on his tongue, and heaving a guttural sigh of contentment. It wasn't too often these days that father's let their youngsters stray from the den, or naive female's blundered off on their own, for this land in which he had chosen to reside was one filled with carnivores such as himself, beings only too happy to feed off the misfortune of others. He fancied that he could still feel the warmth of the female beneath him, and he realised how hot he was. His tongue had fallen from his lips in a pant, and a pool of saliva had trickled from its end to splatter in a sticky pool on his paws. Annoyed, he licked them again before rising from his resting place and heading towards the lake. He waded hock deep into the water, languishing in the coolness of it and lowered his head to drink. His own replenishment was less rushed than his victim's had been, for he knew that noise attracted all manner of unsavoury characters. He had also positioned himself as he had so that any who stalked him would not be able to get close without splashing in the water, and thus alerting him to their presence. Malignus congratulated himself for his own cleverness and gave a wag of his tail, full of pompous pride.

Ah, if only his father could have seen him now.
Quite impossible, as he reminded himself, for his father was long dead and buried, slain by his own son.