He smells the blood well before he sights the child, muzzle lifted into the darkening sky to allow his nostrils to flare, to inhale, to savour that scent as it permeates the air about him and induces only a desire to consume once more. He is still within the gloom, only the glow of eyes so green seeming to reflect within the fading light, watching with silent depravity as the small one comes closer and closer still. He does not understand the difference perhaps, between child and adult, cannot be made to perceive the hold of time or understand its workings. He merely sees a weaker wolf, a smaller wolf, one that reeks of the scent of blood and injury and assures his desire to eradicate is firmly maintained as saliva pools readily within his jaws and emerald eyes fixate upon the rushing child that collides against his limb. His eyes simply roll like a toy possessed, resting upon the child at his paws as his head tilts downward to force only more of her image into his frame. He can smell her fear like the most perfect of perfumes, one surpassed only by the scent of a female in winter as tongue parts from jaws to lick at his lips in anticipation of the meal that has so been presented to him. The small child lunges away mere moments later, scrambling on three paws in an effort to flee, her instinct warning her away from the blackened King this night as he seems to merely watch, allowing her to stumble several strides before his own muscles coil and release, launching his larger form forward once, twice, before he merely lands before her, pivoting upon forepaws to face her now, to block her escape- head lowered to her own level as she surely near collides with him again.

The sound that spills from his maw is neither snarl nor growl, a hiss of sorts, a rasping, coughing like sound and yet his lips curl upward as he does, chest vibrating in this moment- the creature evidently attempting to….laugh, amused it would seem, with the child’s terror as teeth snap suddenly towards her, attempting to make her flee once more if only to allow him to chase- the wretched creature teasing his victim as he proceeds to near bow before her like a child. The fractured tendrils of his mind are confused, it would seem, hunt and play colliding to formulate a twisted game of sorts, instinct demands he…engage with the puppy and yet those demons roar their defiance within, engaging his prey drive, his desire to kill until it results in the display that exists beneath the moonlight, attempting to force her to run, to be chased- if only to be killed at the end of it as his muzzle drives for her once more, snapping, yet making no contact, withdrawn again as forepaws slam against the earth and blunted claws slice apart the soil in a further effort to terrify her as the wind shifts and changes…..and another scent is suddenly thrown against him.

His motion is halted, head jerked upward as if my chains invisible, emerald gaze fixating upon the child once more as that dark king seems to regard her again, eyes…narrowed slightly though they remain near unblinking, unfocused as his head lowers a final time to the surely shaken girl to inhale her scent once more. He can smell milk upon her, the milk provided by a mother, the same scent that covers the small ones belonging to Flare and in this moment his mind recoils sharply. He remembers, yes, remembers the rage of She of Red and White each time he had approached those marked with her scent, the scent of milk, instinct demanding he spare such lives though he cannot understand why. The scent of…innocence perhaps, intermingled with his own and the rage of Mate assuring he stays his fangs. He can scent it upon her now that the scent of blood that so drives his mind to insanity has faded, the scent of Milk, the scent of She of Scars and the scent of himself to some extent- the girls life surely spared this night simply by her youth and the scent of himself upon her- confusing his mind, coaxing from within the instincts that exist beneath his fractured and vile existence. Not for eating. This he knows, tail flicking lightly in disdain as the aggression within his form seems to retreat and fade. He reaches for her now, suddenly, aiming to grasp her scruff in his jaws and hoist her into the air. Those whom smell of milk-scent belonging to Flare, his mind assured of this, the nightmare of Moladion seemingly determined to claim the child as his own, to bring it to Flare to add to her collection of stolen children. Should he find her easily caught he will simply begin to carry her towards his den for….safe keeping this night. She is not for eating, no, no- she is for protecting, for keeping, for it pleases She of Red and White to gather the small ones to herself. Melissandra’s life is surely spared this night by his own confusion and insanity, having combined the scent of milk, Tick Tock and himself to assure his mind she is a possession as Lonhro and Singe, belonging to Flare and only Flare and as such he will keep her until She of Red and White retuns.