• A Perfect Circle •

From dehumanization to arms production, for the benefit of the nation or its destruction. Power, power, the law of the land, those living for death will die by their own hand. Life's no ordeal if you come to terms, reject the system dictating the norms. From dehumanization to arms production, to hasten the nation towards its destruction. Power, power, the law of the land, those living for death will die by their own hand. Life's no ordeal if you come to terms, reject the system dictating the norms. It's your choice, your choice, your choice, your choice, peace or annihilation?

To be honest, Grendal never understood his motives, but this time, he was truly perplexed. Why had he come back? Why did he need to be here of all places, where his mother was hurt, where he was born? Moladion had never been alluring to him, but something called his soul back. Perhaps it was the genes of a bloodline settled here long ago, the call of home and family. Something ancient had called him back, tugged and nagged at him until he felt sick from it. With his chest tight and jaw tighter, the boy made his way back to his birthplace, back to the hell that was Moladion.

He had never been one to hate, to be cruel or demented, but this irresistible urge made it seem so. Every wolf he passed on his way there was met with an ill-tempered snarl and snap of teeth, as though someone were forcing him to go back and not his own body's mutiny. He never gave pause to talk or fritter the winter away as most males would have, instead the ones who wished to flirt were met with a warning and a mock charge to drive them away. The males who thought he wanted to "take" their females were given what they deserved and he moved on. From these more violent encounters, Grendal earned some minor scars on his muzzle and face, but nothing time wouldn't cover. Now, as though his rebellion wasn't enough, the male has been spirited off some how. Iromar, a pack he last knew to be ruled by demons, was a pack he would have avoided entirely if only because of the manner of the old occupants.

His fangs exposed at Malum, the monochrome male moves into the marshland of Iromar, forced by the hidden half-brother he never wanted. As a single child, an only child, Grendal had a special kind of upbringing. He got all of his mother's milk, all of the extra food she brought, and all of her attention whether it was good or bad. He was spoiled to say the least, and unused to being forced to go anywhere. This season seemed to be full of things always forcing themselves toward him, or him toward them as the case may be. "Do ya have to herd me about as if I am a lamb? I know very well where Iromar lay, and I don' think anyone could miss the borderline as thick as it is." Dark silver ears lay back on his head as his grandmother's eyes stare at Malum, jade meeting the rainbow it seemed as he looked over his tarnished shoulder. It was better to simply move with the tide, it was less tiring than fighting against it.

Thanks to Catarina @ Caution for this lovely code. 8D