The bay stretched before him, its waters chilly with the bite of winter. He knew that there were seals along the shore, here; This was why the king scouted. They would be a valuable source of food to Salsola, when other food sources dwindled. The herds of deer that milled about would head further south to warmer plains, where his pack could not follow. They had given up a nomadic way of life when they had been blessed with the virus - Bipedal innovations meant that food could be stored and hunted more proficiently, ensuring that the pack would have a sufficiently supply in one territory all year around, providing they were vigilant and knew which sources to rely on.
It was rare that the monarch was seen in his four-legged form, but he had decided this day to employ it, nonetheless. His horse had been favoring one leg, and Salvia had found a stone lodged in her hoof. The area was sore and swollen, although not terribly wounded, and the girl had warned him not to exert his steed until it had healed. Taking her advice, the king had had to use his own four legs for scouting.
Although he wouldn't admit it, it was somewhat of a relief to be back in this primal form, even if only for a little while. Sirius had hunted on his own large four paws his entire life, and was thoroughly comfortable with momentarily abandoning his post back in the center of Salsola and sneaking off under the pretense of checking to see the whereabouts, and number, of the seal colony.
His long legs, lean from mixed ancestry of wolf and coyote blood, held the tireless lope as the dark male bounded along the thin beach-grasses. Rolling hills and bends held hidden treasures from view, revealing an old seal skeleton. Pausing to sniff at it a moment, Sirius caught the scent of the masses of blubber and headed onward, nose and haunches low to the ground. His tail, taken by a mother bear at the beginning of his reign, was little more than a tuft now, but it held low along his haunches instinctively. The male was a prime hunter, far better at this practical trait than he was at fighting. Sirius had never learned the art of combat - He had never needed to, for his skills in manipulation and intimidation were far greater than any brawn he might have mustered. It was these, and the aura of power and danger that rippled from him, that allowed the Thistle King to hold his thorny crown.
He did not at first notice the stranger. She was hidden from view by a mount of earth and sand, but as he rounded the bend, he heard the startled shrieks of disgruntled gulls, and saw the flock hovering nervously about in the air. The scent of blood reached his eager nose next, and this was what had the tall, somewhat lanky male approaching in his long lope. He was a strange creature to behold - Almost doglike, in that his legs were long, paws large, and body lean and compact, with the bow of his ribcage notable. But that was where those similarities ended, for although he had not the weight of a full-grown male wolf, he was surely as tall as one, and his mottled pelt of deep ocher, caramel and grey held the thick winter plushness that only wolves had. But there was more to his heritage than that; The man's blood ran thick with coyote genes, and this showed in his large, erect ears, his skinniness. His muzzle was wolfish, long and broad, with sharp teeth yellowed from many hunts.
His eyes were perhaps the most interesting aspect of his dark, brooding countenance - They were a sharp venomous green, portals to the dominant power within him. Sirius was the progeny of a line of ancient Kings on his mother's side, and a twisted bloodthirsty prince had been his sire. Perhaps that was why his very being emanated with the dangerous scent of a true predator.
What his eyes fixed upon was a strange, alarming sight. A wolf of many monochrome shades, it's pelt marred with innumerable scars, had caught one of the nesting gulls. The bird's blood dripped liberally from its dead corpse, staining the scene. Although her scent marked the stranger as female, Sirius wouldn't have known by looking at her in such a way; She was far to beaten up to resemble any humble beauty he had ever seen. Stopping a short distance away, the male held his body tall and stiff, ears high to show his interest and proclaim some sort of dominance. If she challenged him, he would retaliate - Aggressiveness was a part of his nature, chained only by a strong and rigid willpower. "Who goes there?" His tenor tones, inherently charming as they rolled off his silver tongue, were buffeted by a sea breeze as they sought to reach the stranger. Again, her scent was carried across to him, marking her this time as an Anatheman. The thistle king's pupils dilated warily.
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