Sometimes, he was driven to go into the depths of the world. He was driven to let his instincts arise and follow the scents that cling to the air. His white form may stick out in the woods somewhat, but he had his own little weapon that followed him around, and she blended in more into the world around her. At times, he was the distraction, and she was the shadow that would burst from behind as their prey's eyes were focused on the brilliance that was Valefor. It was a perfect combination- and they almost always got what they wanted in this world.

For now, he steered clear of the waters. His attention is moving with impeccable mobility and masculine grace. His eyes of brilliant violet and bright orange slashes are intent on the world before him. He know Anima is with him, and can always feel her presence as he leads the way. There are times when he may explain what it is he is doing and looking for, and other times when no such thing is needed. Today is one of those days where he needs no words. His heightened body and fur on edge shows exactly how he feels. The woods was a place that held many secrets, including a little secret of a another lupine among the more watery side of the woodland.

His eyes do catch the sight, and Valefor carefully and silently paws behind a tall tree, hiding his form as his visage peeks around just enough to view the other wolf as they lap up water. Valefor's eyes focus in on the other creature, as he tended to do when he was in such moods. He felt his heart beat hard within his chest. He felt an anger and an urge suddenly make his toes curl to where dirt begins to gather between them. He feels his lips curl uncontrollably. Looking at this male made a compulsion flare within him. It was like an itch...and he had to scratch it. The male before him was imperfect, defective in a way that is not from scars from wounds. No, this ones lips were defective, and Valefor had to cleanse this one of such imperfection.

He did not snarl out loud. He simply motioned with his head for Anima- she would know what to do, before he suddenly burst forth from around the tree that harbored his white form. He ran upon long legs, and with a form almost unmatched by any other. He was indeed of the most perfect of blood as he was told, and it is only he who is valid to judge the world. The angle he came at towards the other male had him slightly covered by a thin tree, and perhaps the target would not notice him until it was too late.

Once in range, his mouth slips open. Daggers are exposed as he says in the ancient tongue, "Mundare." He does not scream it, nor is it a whisper. It is a firm voice, gritty in tone and deep. The kind of voice that sinks in a feeling a terror. He leaps, mouth going forward towards the right side of the male's muzzle. His teeth seek to grasp the muzzle, and his angle makes it to where he comes a little bit from the side and behind the male, thus, it is likely he will land closer to base of the muzzle. He will violently do two shakes of his head if he gets his target, and push down the head of the male with great force if given the chance. He knew he would have to reposition himself to get to the defective part of the muzzle- but first he must adjust and judge the movements of the male before letting go for a second attack.