| Onias
The soft grass and the openness of the springtime riverside did not suit him. With it's greenery and bright, clear water, it was far too pleasant a place for him to spend much time in. But something, something he could not yet comprehend, drew him out of the rocky confines of the crags and into the more open air of the riverside. Perhaps it was wrong of him to sequester himself so, but Onias did not yet trust that many wolves would take kindly to his forays quite yet. These lands seemed to be a rather lovely place to live, after all. But what the common denizen may not know is the wolves that lurked behind the curtain, behind the facade of good and justified, of what is proper and what is right. The hidden enemy, Onias thought with a chuckle.
Did he truly think himself an enemy of the common man? An enemy, perhaps, to unenlightenment-- to those who thought the world was made to be just so. Those were the types he found himself targeting the most often. More willing to offend, to push aside ritual and spell because they would not, could not believe. In way, Onias pitied them. They would never see the true path, nor could they ever brush past the curtain and see the world for what it truly was. Attitudes and affects differed, but at their core, they were all the same... afraid of the truth. Like the male he had uttered a curse on, they would all perish, eventually. It was he and his followers who had earned their quiet salvation.
Onias settled down upon the riverbank, his stomach brushing against the soft grass. At the very least, it was beautiful-- and while he preferred to do his business in the shadows and darkness, he was not one to scorn beauty when it came. Perhaps Fate was simply calling for a break. His head upon his paws, he stared at the slowly moving water, simply thinking and pondering what his next moves might be. There had been many, so far, that he had touched-- the mimic, Drogon, the legions of wolves that had come before in different places and different lives. But there had never been one to match him, to speak with him on equal ground-- he had always held himself above, simply because he knew more.
But perhaps, some day soon, he would meet an equal. Two forces that came together in an unholy sort of unification-- two halves of a whole, perhaps. He had heard the magic of these lands was of a similar feeling, but he had never felt as though it was his soul that was incomplete. Intellect, perhaps-- but his soul, should it be there at all, lay dormant. The searching only came from a desire to enlighten others with what he knew to be true, but what should happen if they already knew?
If you ain't got money, it can't save your soul.
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