malignant was nothing like the home country and zachariah loved it. there was no need for him to be anything but himself, and it was a glorious thing. his ambition could run unchecked - so long as it didn’t get out of hand and he kept his teeth to himself - and he could manipulate others to his heart’s content. he had been quietly observing the packlands, analyzing what he found, and making his judgements about the members who were not from lucifer’s army. he had not gotten anyone to spill their every secret to him yet, but that would come in time - patience was a virtue he was blessed with.

he had set his eye on the prize of beta - he could have fought for the position of lucifer’s right hand, but that was simply not an option he wanted to take. had he lost, his pride - or even his life - would be at stake. that was simply the law of the land in the mother country, but it was different here. he could earn it, work hard, use his natural talent at manipulation and diplomacy to not only gain the power he so craved, but also benefit the wolves who lived under lucifer’s rule. it was a win-win situation for both sides. if he wanted the position, he’d have to begin his work for it shortly. there were others who wanted it, as badly as he did, he couldn’t be sure, but he knew the type of wolves; that lucifer attracted it. they were as the type to snatch what was yours from under your nose without a second thought. there would be none of that, not this time. he’d lost what was his one time too many for him to let it happen again.

images of a dainty white muzzle parted in a laugh, soft pink eyes warm with amused affection, a white woman who had loved him flashed through his mind. those were followed by far more gruesome ones: teeth that weren’t his grasping a white scruff until trickles of red streaked it, tear filled pink eyes, the cruel jesting of the packmate who claimed her as his own while zachariah stood there, unable to help. he could recall, vividly, the day he helped bury her - her dainty body couldn’t take what that awful man had done to it and she had died weeks into the partnership. he had mourned her and had vowed that she was the last he would be close to in such a way. he had not broken that promise.

he awoke suddenly from dreams of white fur and pink eyes and her voice, soft and soothing, murmuring his name, a bone deep chill settling in. the summer heat didn’t do anything to warm him up and he rose abruptly, sliding out of his den. with a quick shake of his pelt, zachariah began a steady loping pace towards the border, paws finding the well worn path with ease, even in the darkness before dawn. he had not gone very far when something to his right drew his attention, the smell alerting him to the young hog who had strayed from its mother’s side. by the time he had reached the origin of the scent, the animal was gone. with a growl of frustration, zachariah turned sharply, his restless energy seeking a release. he was preparing to return to the border when a rustling noise, paired with the sound of twigs breaking, alerted him to something - or someone - to his left. turning his head, two-toned eyes peered into the darkness of the trees, narrowing slightly.