ooc: This takes place after the pack hunt and his private thread with Cercelee (postdated Jan 8th)- he's still really pissy, so anyone can pick a fight with him, or calm him down (so he can go apologize to her next!). C:
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
In his high temper, Slay had already left the coastal sands far behind him. He ran the whole distance of the Flander's Field in record time, paws slamming hard against the snow-covered ground, spraying shattered ice in his wake. Winter already had him on edge, with its oppressive snow and the memories of his birthplace; he hadn't needed the venom-coated words of the one woman he actually cared about added to the pile.
The sun was setting as he reached his favourite haunt, the Dahlia graveyard. The statue of the Virgin Mary loomed above him, her facial features long-since worn away by the elements of nature. Slay drew his lips back to snarl at her - for once, not comforted by the human statues that littered the area. He didn't handle anger well, never had, always masked his feelings and bottled them up inside. Every once in a rare while, he would let them release... An explosion of catharsis, usually a flurry of violence did the trick. But there was no one here to fight with. It was like the pack had vanished, all gone off to do their own thing. Cercelee had managed to piss him off in a big way, when he had already been upset. So what if he liked Cwmfen? Cwmfen liked Haku! And Cer had no right to be jealous, because she was crushing on the golden boy, Ril'o! Life was so damn complicated!
He drew to a halt, broad chest heaving with his heavy breaths. His thick winter coat was still bristling as he replayed the squabble in his mind. She had provoked him, but he had definitely lost his temper first. Usually he would disappear around this time - whenever he felt too uncomfortable around others, he would simply skirt the borders of their land and stop interacting with everyone for days... weeks... even months, like during the war. He would just wait for things to settle down. But he was too restless this time -- he needed to get this out of his system before he ended up killing someone!
The arctic wolf watched his breath freeze in the cooling January air, watched as the shadows from the icy tombstones lengthened across the white ground. He was built for this weather, but he hated it. Maybe he would feel less antsy, less jealous, when he could see the grass again...
"I can't wait for Spring," he growled.
