It had been a while since he has stretched his legs over the soil of Molodian. The Darkbringer had travelled northeast many seasons ago to spread his darkness elsewhere. Moons had risen and fallen, casting shadows amongst the trails, leaving reminders behind the flashing charcoal eyes of Blackthorne. Nyteshade had followed him for a time, watching, learning, changing. It was an evolution of sorts. New scars adorned the muscled figure of Blackthorne; a jagged scar along his right ribcage, whereupon he had assaulted a pack with Nyteshade at his side until he had toppled and taken over there. Then, when he had grown tired of their spoils, onward he went. A path of destruction.

That path had looped back around. Destiny was like that. It took one to the farthest reaches of the continent, left claw marks in the wake of such an journey, but the spindle pointed back to home when it was all said and done.

Molodian had been without the Darkbringer for too long. Silence had fallen, or so it seemed to his perked ears. The scents were lessened by nature. His nose flared but all he got was bark, sap, dirt, and rot. What was missing? The stench of fear.

He could fix that.

The slash of a wing across his face is swift, his silver lips peeling back as strong teeth snap in the direction that the raven flies away, it’s raucous call echoing through the trees. Molodian didn’t want him back, it screams. Well, he thinks, pinned ears rising and face settling into his one-fang smirk – it didn’t matter what it wanted.

He was here to stay. Darkness had fallen and darkness would remain.

image by Sanctuare/html by Ally courtesy of Riley