So it ever was. So will it always be. Such is the nature of evil.
The sun is too bright, it bites into his eerie silver eyes and he makes a low groaning noise in his chest as he moves, attempting to stick to the shaded areas. A scowl sits permanently upon his muzzle as he moves. Underidge is an odd figure - he moves in the disjointed manner of a coyote or hyena, lacking all forms of grace, and his silver fur is matted thick from winter's fury. He cared nothing for appearance usually but spring was the most damnable season for his skin fairly itched with all the grime of winter and the matted fur only made matters that much more intense. It is why he meanders from the place he had been sniffing on the borders of Iromar (because he had caught a faint scent of a male that he had sworn to track and one day kill) towards the river.
Loud. He hates loud, hates the way the river seems to roar even if it isn't all that loud in truth. The chirp of birds, so carefree and lovely, is despised and as he leaps over a rotten log a flock of birds arises around him. On instinct his head snaps up, jaws parting and catching the tail feathers of a frenzied blackbird. It screeches, it's wings beating at his face, but he is unaffected by it's anger. With a quick yank it is slammed into the ground, his paw pressing into it's belly and his jaws wrap around it's neck and jerk. Crunch. The flutters stop.
While he was not a loner, he might fool others with his physique, which was often so lean as to be considered malnourished. It was the way he was all year round, thin but roped with lean muscles. Thin legs press onward, the blackbird now hanging from his jaw, and he spies the pair as he comes up from behind them. His steps, uneven as they are, are often silent, a skill that he prized himself on. Underidge was the shadow of Molodian, rarely seen and hardly known about. The scent of the male tastes old and his insides flutter. The Shade, his inward god, stirs. Matthias wasn't a target yet but Underidge hadn't found a visible weakness yet. The girl is young and foolish, spending her time beneath the sun.
He would turn from them if it wasn't for what the older male said. That draws Underidge out. The bird drops with a muted thump against the grass.
"Death clings to you too," he says, his voice raspy and his words as uneven as his gait, tone rising and falling. Then he stares, simply stares with his odd eyes, to see what might happen.
UNDERIDGE
FIVE - MALE - NO HEART - STARSHADE'S SOUL
OF GLORALL - ENDERLY X BANSHEE - KILL COUNT (III)