Pups too adventurous for their own good had become a delicacy for Reaver. While elderly wolves were easy enough to come by, or unsuspecting loners, the whelps of this land seemed to be far more safeguarded now than they had in the past. Though time ebbed and flowed with no true distinction to the beast, he was aware of the steady decline of the most tender of lupine flesh in his diet. It was for this reason that he had become so attentive to the pup that moved through the valley now, his sickening green eyes fixated upon the tiny morsel that danced just out of his reach. White pinnacles flicked back and forth, pin-wheeling atop his skull as he listened for the sound of an adult close by. With each step, his snack moved further out of range. In his lifetime, Reaver had encountered more than his fair share of what should have been easy game - a blundering black shewolf with gold streaks down her sides, a lone woman in the woods, a hideously ancient and scarred shewolf, a girl cloaked in auburn - that had proven otherwise. In some cases a stronger wolf came to their aid. In others, the only explanation Reaver had for his defeat was that accursed white woman. The mere flicker of a memory caused his lips to pull back and his head to thrash out at the vision, saliva cast forth from his maw as he beat back the recollection.

Refocusing, his eyes shot up towards the retreating pup, finding that an adult had joined it. Reaver's paws flexed, claws digging into the soil as he lingered in the shadows. A familiar rage nearly pushed him forward in the chase anyways - two for one was better than none. But it was the flash of another wolf's movement that distracted him long enough to ensure the naive happiness of the duo, at least for one more day. Eyes narrowed upon the figure as it began its ascent from the valley, and Reaver's nostrils flared as the bridge of his snout wrinkled in a silent grimace. A girl cloaked in auburn. His tongue flashed forward, curling over his teeth before it disappeared once more within that dark canyon. And then he was moving.

Before he had come to this accursed land, the behemoth had never known defeat - that he could remember. He had always been an undeniable force, taking what he wanted when he wanted it. Though there had always been struggles, wolves who had fought back against their inevitable demise, he had always overcome them. It was not until that first meeting with the white temptress that he had let a meal slip between his paws. And now, as if in a second coming, that first lost prize presented itself to him once more.

He stalked after her, keeping his distance in a way that was unusual to him. His usual tactic was to charge forth and overwhelm, using his unusually large size to smother his victims before he ripped out their throats. But today he stalked her, his mind unable to fully grasp the notion that he had hunted her before and failed, never having faced a wolf twice in his life - there had never been any remnant to return to. He followed her into the shaded darkness of the forest, the darkened tip of her tail the only thing visible to him as she maneuvered through the woods. His ears were pulled back against his skull, waiting for the moment to strike, but it did not come. The soft rustle of dead leaves and the barest sound of crunching snow brought the monstrosity to a halt, ears pricking forward. She had stopped, perhaps laid down somewhere just ahead. His tongue lashed across his lips once more, and then he thundered forward, prepared to take what had been owed to him that day in the cave so long ago.

He came upon her, tucked neatly into a corner she could not escape, no second tunnel would offer her freedom this time. No, he would rip her limb from limb and devour her once his needs to tear something apart were sated, leaving a mess of blood in the dirty snow that surrounded what she had thought was a safe haven. He lunged forward, jaws seeking to grab her by the ruff and drag her out of her comfortable abode, out into the open where he could do his worst. One massive, ivory paw pressed down on her chest and his lips pulled back to expose deadly daggers ready to cut her open. But he lingered, nostrils flaring as her perfume overwhelmed him, tainted by the scent of winter's call, and his fangs were suddenly and inexplicably stayed. At least for that moment, his mind was at war with itself - ravage her flesh, or take what nature demanded of him?

Reaver

TEN - 42 IN/216 LBS - LONER