Morning light first touches the earth as the young god moves into his new domain, lighting the world in shades of gold and red, yellows and pinks. The sunrise makes even the snow shine with the yellow and red of dawn, dark violet peers out from a blanket of white, gold rims making the eyes seem as though they were meant to witness the dawn. White and pale cream ripples in the winter wind as the haughty boy grins and waves his pale plume behind him, broad paws dancing in the snow as he gears up for the day. He is of death and chaos, of darkness and shadow, though one would never be able to tell he had a litany of mental disorders just by looking at him. There was always this darker part lurking beneath the mask of joyful youth. This morning he seemed to be in a frolicking type mood, and as the sun rose over the horizon, Deimos kicked up his heels and ran headlong across the open marshland he had found.

With youthful vigor, the two year old dashes through puddles of icy mud and right across the snowy blades of grass, kicking up snow and giving off peels of mad laughter as he did so. It did not matter that the boy was alone, he was better left that way, and he was having the time of his life without any company other than his own. Deimos giggled, but the sound and his fast motion was instantly cut short. So...hungry! Feed us! Do it, find something, anything. Maim it, drain the lifeblood, consume it! Suddenly, the boy's stomach pangs as though someone had jabbed him in the gut with a sharpened stave and twisted it. With the most furious, throaty growl, Deimos is a flurry of violent movements once again. This time, his strides ate the ground with a purpose, those gold rimmed, violet eyes searching and scanning for a soul to take. All the while the voices in his head egg him on and scream, torturing him and driving him mad with hunger.

Trying to focus on the task at hand, Deimos sees the wolves of the shadows hunting by his side though looking directly at them seemed only to make them disappear. They were everywhere once the voices shouted at him. Find something now! With a snarl at the imagined aggressors, Deimos tosses his head as he runs, as though he were being stung by bees. There was motion in the distance, and the episode ceases as suddenly as it began, a mask of joy once again covering the male. His tail raises in two year old pride, appearing to be every bit the princely god he imagined himself to be as he gets closer and closer to the target. Would it be a meal, or a fast way to a meal? Deimos could not be sure, but as his half-grown, white frame moves toward the living creature, he could see it was wolf-like. Deimos was not above eating a wolf, though he preferred his targets to be smaller than himself. This one seemed the same size or bigger, he could not be sure until he met the moving thing, and so, he lengthened his strides to get to the creature as fast as he could.