Of course you would keep me waiting Segin. Im not known for patience, brother. Plume lashes slowly against my flanks as I pace along the tree-line, never quite venturing so far over the precipace to be considered a trespasser. Respect for boundaries wasn't my forte, but a Lion knows even he is not strong enough to take on a pack of mongrel hyenas alone. Pick One's battles wisely.

Audits swivel like twin satellites, harking fro as the muffled sound of a steadily approaching tread can be heard from beyond the spruce and conifers. opulent pits train on the subtle path ahead, helm lifting higher upon my shoulders as a figure emerges from the fauna of Asteraia. But to my disappointment, it is not you brother, but another. This Other, she is large, but decidedly female. Her scent is strong, almost baring the musk of a male. Olfactors have detected this scent along the borders as being the most prominent. That can only mean this bitch must be the ringleader of this outfit. I let her come to me, with all the focused poise of a cobra who watches the passing mouse.

She fills the expanse of the path, as if she were a living barricade and I cannot refrain from flashing a sharp-toothed grin at the subtle posture. Tongue rasps slowly over yellowed ivories, letting her size me up as I took my own assessment of the female. Her eyes were those of a tainted soul. A monster beneath her facade. It's easy for breasts to recognize their own kind. She was shorter, though not as much as most, and lighter of build. She sported an ensemble much like that of angels. though more black and less white. The rouge of her coat reminds me of old blood, just as its starting to coagulate in the arteries and turn that ruddy rust color. It only intensifies that carnal need inside me to sate those dark whispering voices of my soul. To Feed. But that will come another time. Unless she provokes me. if so, I'll brighten that coat of hers to fresh crimson for her.

Her jaws part and she speaks only a single word. A solitariy, simple inquiry buried beneath a fortitude of malice. For which I reply with blunt simplicity and the usual side of smartass:

"None of yours-" Thick voice is a rugged, graveled thunder that rumbles up from my core. Though spoken with dismissal, it seems to resonate with the potency of an oncoming storm.
The Righteous Side Of Hell