Carrion sat atop the roof of the mansion, resting against the siding in a section where it was relatively intact. The moonlight shone down on him, the only light for miles. The northern lights were beautiful- serpentine, multicoloured and bright. He mused that the spirits that created them must be powerful indeed. The coyote picked up the bottle of rotgut whiskey he'd bought off of a trader, and sipped at it. Not nearly as good as the vodka he'd once had... but good enough anyway.
He thought of the first night he'd been here. The lights hadn't been in the sky when he traveled into the packlands- it was stormy that October night. He'd been heading north, travelling mostly on pack- neutral lands when he could. When he came to the scorched and burned earth of Bleeding Souls, he'd kept going. Kept going until he'd found the coastline. He half-knew why he'd been heading north so aggressively... but deep inside, he knew he'd never succeed. His family was long gone. He'd never kill Reaver. His father. The real demon in his story.
After that, he'd wandered around for a while, finally settling down in Inferni, which was the most suiting for someone of his temperament and... talents. He took another swig of the misty brown liquid and capped it, then tossed it onto his nearby satchel. Alcohol always made him think too much.
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