He moves like a beast from the wilds. His ears are perked and his eyes are wide with violet and orange. The sky had darkened and filled fat with rain. It did not take long for them to swell to the point of bursting. The rain begins to fall, specks at first, until it begins to soak the world around him. He came from the woods, as he always did. It was the place where he stalked from the shadows, but it did not mean the pure white creature did not venture off into the fields. He held a smirk on his black lips as he moved, each muscle rippling with perfection as he caught on the scent of something to hunt. It was not a scent he knew, nor was it even wolf. He was stalking prey, one of the lesser creatures of the world. He licks his lips. He knows that the rain dulls the senses of the lesser creatures, although his paws grow thick with mud.

He loped forward in the grass, nose lowering slightly to follow the trail. His eyes were alert though, and he sees a figure move at the horizon. He knows not who it is, been there is a golden sheen to him until he is seen no more, covered by bush and tall grass. Anselm feels curious, as he usually does, and diverted from his path of the hunt. There was much to find to eat and kill, and he did not need to follow the same scent. He would find a new one.

His form is touched with liquid water that causes some of his fur to cling together as he hears a gentle thunder echo across the heavens. He pauses. His eyes were upon where the other figure had gone to, and the thunder did give him to hesitate, as if he needed to stop and consider the situation. His ears lift and he stands tall, looking around until his eyes are diverted to something white. He cannot tell what might be there.

His eyes narrow as his long limbs bring him forth, breaking past grass until the white figure becomes more into focus upon the ground. He wonders what weak soul fell on this day. There is a smug look on his muzzle, as it is always satisfying to find the dead even if he did not rip their hearts out himself. Yet as he comes closer, he sees the blood, and sees the face come into view. The face is of himself. He stops, head pulling back and body tensing up. No, it was Heyel.

He stepped forward once again, head lowering, feeling the coldness of the lack of life within the vessel on the ground. He leaned his muzzle in to sniff Heyel's face- yes, it is him, it is Heyel but no other scent comes to his nares, or perhaps he is too distracted. He pulls back a bit, allowing his eyes to stare at that face, that face of Heyel that was his own face. He stares for a good moment until his eyes are directed at the blood. He moves his muzzle in the nudge the wounds, licking one particularly bad wound a few times, ensuring no reaction from Heyel, that he is dead as dead can be. The ground was already soaked with water a blood that covered his paws, and now his blood was on his face.

Heyel is dead, and he felt almost nothing from it other than the desire to speak to his mother, sister, and brother. Eden especially he wishes to speak to, and such a thing is not common. He lifts a single paw onto Heyel's chest. He does not press down, but simply does so and looks into his face once more. Anselm knows that he lives, he is the young and the old has died. There is something...different about Heyel's death though, different as he has always known that other call him Heyel when he is but Anselm, when they see his face within him. Deep down, he knew all along, but Heyel would never admit it. It caused his eyes to narrow, a narrowing in some sort of disdain for Heyel's rejection, but what is done is done. He removes his paw, licking his lips though blood still remains, and begins to turn his form back towards the wood for which he came.

((I understand there may be some edits to Darq/Sol's posts, however this post will not interfere with that as it will be during when Achilles is tracking Solaris and before he returns to the body but I figure I would move it along and post now!!!))