He can smell the blood, the birth and this is surely what brings him, that loping giant of black and red and white whose towering form has terrorized the free lands of late. He has turned from the packs that had once been his home, turned from the few he had known, reverted almost entirely to a creature far more primal. With the death of Stella there was little that held his mind within the realm of sense, of kindness, of compassion. The assassin had turned his back on the world long, long ago and for today he sought only food, for himself, for Dirge and young flesh is easy. His path changes, that giant of a male of blended demon and Angel blood loping closer and closer to the tantalizing scent of new life. Mother’s were weak at birth, unable to defend- a decent meal themselves and yet Elijah is not as his Father before him, not entirely, he wants only what he believes he needs- what he deserves. The children will be enough for today. If he is lucky there may be two. Long white limbs slow as he approaches, form halted a short distance away from the small mouth of the den, nostrils flared as he assures himself the scent remains within.

There is little left within the creature, little true being, the male merely hungry, predatory- his compassion long since having fled in the wake of the death of his mate. He remembers his children, knows surely they exist still and yet it is Dirge alone he cares for. What his children may think of him, if even they have survived, he cares not. They are their own beings and his mind has long since pulled away from any emotional attachment to them. His tongue slips from his jaws, brushing across his lips in anticipation as those russet heckles lift along his spine and emerald eyes fixate upon the space before him. He is to large, surely, to fit within the den and yet he hardly needs to fit, he needs only to thrust his head inside enough to snatch a pup from within. Emerald gaze briefly searches the area, assuring himself no male is within sight- to have an unprotected den is a rarity indeed. One he aims to make the most off.

He lunges from within the shadows of the trees, large strides eating away at the earth, covering the distance in mere seconds before his head and neck reach into the darkness of the den. He lunges straight for the nearest puppy (Masque), caring little for the Mother, hoping indeed she was to tired, to shocked, to attempt to snap at him entirely too much. If he manages to grasp the puppy he is after he will simply haul his head back- prize well within his jaws.