He had followed because instinct had dictated it, her batted, bloodied form drawing him from the depths of his den this fateful eve. He can smell the blood upon her, her scent intermingled with one he knows well though his fractured mind perhaps does not make the ultimate connection- at least at first. He had come with She of Red and White and the dark ones she protected, the small, mewling ones for whom his patience often ran so dangerously thin. He permits them because She desires it, because the scent of her milk protects them, engages his instincts to protect as opposed to consume and yet each day this grows weaker, the male yet to decide whether they are meal or equal. He is…intolerable of males at the best of times and yet for now the youth within his offspring protects them from the darker crevices of his mind. He does not know why he has come to the land of fields or why the border scent of Jaidah has grown weak- perhaps it matter not. His mind is not made for politics, he does not care for titles or ranks of positions and alliance forged on the promise of good will. He understands only the laws of nature as they press upon him, needs not to stand tall or rise high in a physical sense in this moment- for he is born with this knowledge, for he has never bowed to another in all his years and as such perhaps he has forever held a position of dominance. One that has only now be given some sort of….recognition.

Yet it matters not perhaps, for his mind perceives nothing but that which it always has, an assurance that exudes with each darkened step as the frame of ebony crosses the grassy lands that are laced with scents of intrigue. He does not hunger tonight for the demons of his mind are well sated and seek not to ravage upon the earth or taste the blood of those deemed a weakness to his mind. The bond of imprint thrums and pulls like a leash from which he cannot be free. One he loath and yet craves all at once. He can scent her blood- scent her injury and yet for now at least hunger does not stir from him as he melds from the darkened shadows to appear like the finest of dark Angels upon the earth and approach She of Scars. How she has come to be injured he does not know, his mind incapable of this deduction, his examination of her not yet complete enough to perceive the identity of her attacker- though perhaps within the sweet embrace of the night such things will become only more clear the hellish creature whose nightmarish presence has layered itself across this land. It is….dangerous, perhaps, to permit him unchecked upon the fields, let alone to bestow upon him such power. Yet perhaps such power has always existed, for surely he has never acted as less.

A rumblings growl rises within the caverns of his throat, announcing his presence, replying to her howl as she stands upon lands so empty- for now. Perhaps he may be made to understand, perhaps he may be taught to protect and not harm or perhaps he will merely ravage and burn as he has learned in his desire to purge weakness from this earth. Each paw scraps at the earth as he moves like liquid oil to approach, blackened claws piercing the soil beneath to tear open gashes like the wounds of flesh- marking his scent with each and every stride as he does in a display of dominance most potent. He turns but once, deadened eyes fixated upon She of Red and White who follows, a rumble within his chest summoning her further forward, jaws parting to press atop her muzzle in a gesture possessive before he releases Flare and turns from her once more. He is grown…curious perhaps, of the lands that surrounded him as paws lift to stride upon the rocky outcrop atop which she of Scars has perched herself, each thickened cord of roped muscle rolling and coiling beneath that pelt of obsidian as he rises. Each step carries him only higher until he stands beside she of scars, eyes of emerald aglow within the gloom of the darkened sky above, gaze cast across the darkened lands before those eyes unblinking rotate within his skull to rest upon her, heckles lifting in warning as he reaches for her wounded side. Lips pull back to revel whitened teeth and yet in this moment those knives part, tongue sliding free to sweep across that torn flesh, saliva seeming to run more freely in this moment in response to that salted taste of blood as this grooming seems to become only more forceful. He desires to touch her, be close to her and yet other desires exist still, darker thoughts that press upon his form though in this single moment he draws away once more- satisfied with this mere taste as tongue sweeps across his lips in satisfaction and his gaze returns to sweep across the fields he is told are his own. His.

It takes merely that single word for his mind to form possession….obsession….with this very land and each and every creature that should belong to it, should any emerge whom stood bold enough to dare stand before him and the females he accompanies- for they are his possessions, of this he is assured. Just as any other whom exists within the fields shall surely be.