It is a dark night tonight, the very night that so seems to inspire the Black Prince, King truly, to emerge from the depths of his den. He has fed well tonight already, hunger, for once, holding no press upon his tortured mind as he wanders with aimless discord about the pack land itself, following scent of trail as instinct demands and yet his mind takes no joy from it. He simply exists, for existence demands it such. Eyes of reptilian green glow softly in the light of the moon as the shadow casts him himself across the lands of his pack, moving within the scattering of trees like the Angel of the Night himself as he glides with softened perfection and silence across the earth. He can scent his imprint, her scent more potent this night then the one his mind had fixated upon following and as such the wheels within his mind shift and turn and begin to follow this trail. He does not understand the bond of imprint as he does not understand the love of mate or child. He understands only his need for them as Law of Wolf dictate and as such he accepts without question. Flare is Mate. Tick Tock is imprint and though he knows not the words for these things he desires them, protects them, deems them of importance within his mind so much so that they are not for eating as others are. They are his belongings, his possessions, never for sharing and this he knows. A rumble of sorts rises within the depths of his chest upon his approach, seeking her attention as he comes.
He is not a social creature, not a male of affection and yet there exists within him some capability to express beyond the hunger that absorbs his mind and robs him of all common thought and logical reason. Jaws part, encompassing her own muzzle, biting softly down upon it with greeting and affection before he turns away from her, halting, before lowering himself into the long, dark grass at her paws, his own form stretched entirely outward before he rolls. For a moment he rests upon his side before his form propels itself upon his back entirely, flailing himself about in a manner that appears almost jovial in its expression- though indeed he simply seeks to itch at his back and find relief. It is a moment of vulnerability, a weakness, to expose himself in such a fashion and yet in the presence of Tick Tock he holds no fear- content in her company to allow himself this moment of seeming normalcy.
His form stills, slows, the male of darkened perfection content to lie upon his spine still with legs splayed and forelegs tucked to his chest as his head falls back against the grass and the cold breeze washes over his form like a chilled caress that seems to bring with it some small amount of pleasure in this most precious of moments. It is a wonder perhaps, if he may feel pleasure, or joy, or love, for it would seem he feels nothing at all and yet in that single moment the very Nightmare of Moladion itself is content to lay stretched out upon the earth, one paw extended forward suddenly to bump against the muzzle of Tick Tock, though why cannot be said. There is no indication or gesture of play, he simply seems to take curiosity in such an action, another rarely expressed gesture, Tobias rarely curious of anything save a bloodied carcass.
“Night.”
The word is sudden, hoarse, rasping as he releases it upon a breath, his gaze angled away as he stares across the fields themselves with gaze unblinking.
“Niiight.”
He simply repeats the word though why cannot be said, one paw angled upward now, away from her face, to point at the sky- his behaviour……bizarre and so rarely seen to be so very peaceful as he is now.