Shivershade

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EIGHT - NONE; HEART - NONE; SOUL - NONE

Shivershade had traveled in the more recent months, stretching his long legs in his need to find more places and have something to occupy his time. Molodian had been dull at the time since the disappearance of Hush. He had managed to seduce a white vixen last winter, Ailith she had called herself in her foreign tongue, and it had been one of his more enticing moments. Then he had taken by force what had been withheld by pride from another female; she was so much smaller, really, she ought to learn to keep herself more protected. Put your money where your mouth is, you know. Don't stir up trouble you aren't ready to handle. Shivershade was one big problem for he stood among the tallest of wolves and his body was muscular, built to pack a punch and take one as well. His size was formidable, the kind of size that made him cocky at times. Definitely self assured. Life was easy for him - if another had it and they were smaller, well, taking it was a breeze.

He did not know whether the two females had born any fruit from their encounters. Did not honestly care, truthfully. They were not the type that would draw him in anyways and he was certain Antoinette would never wish to see him again after he had taken away any choice she had. Now he was back, his muscles sated from the long trek and desiring to find his abandoned den in the forest and prepare it for winter. The idea of a pack had always been a loathsome one to him merely because Shivershade was dominant by nature. Being ruled and told what to do was not something he desired but in time perhaps he would settle down. In time.

Sunlight filters through the fall treetops, a breeze rustling rapidly decaying leaves. A yellow one breaks from a limb and flutters down to him, falling across his chocolate back before it is thrust off by the movements of his hips. Already his coat begins to thicken, dense and overlong, and his mouth parts to pant for it is not quite time for his coat to do such - it was still too warm out. He hated this transition and he hated winter just as much. Then again he hated summer too so there wasn't much that satisfied the beast.

Large tawny paws pause at the entrance to a den that has been neglected the past few seasons. A tree has fallen in some freak storm to lay right across the entrance, caving in some of it, and his mouth peels back in a scowl of disapproval at his luck. It would take much work to clear the den out again, not to mention hunting and stocking up. He leaps atop the tree now, sitting on it with a calculating look as his eyes turn away in search of any passerby he might press into servitude to help with his chore.