style="padding: 0px; position: relative; right: 80px; top: 66px; width: 220px; height: 360px; z-index: 2; overflow: auto;">
I keep forgetting that Corvus is colourblind OnO
500+
That sneer tugged at his lips, but whatever emotion had sought to slide onto them was not strong enough. That cold wind whipped it away, and only the black eyes flickered with something as he watched the male before him. He seemed confident, unperturbed by his presence. And perhaps the pied wolf was intrigued enough to remain. Whatever the lighter wolf thought, whatever his thoughts and intentions, the Korean could not discern. Those thoughts were hidden well beneath the many layers of mental defense, just as his own. But they were...different somehow. Those narrow eyes were unrelenting, as if searching for some weakness within that defense. For now, there was nothing. But such defenses were transient and ever changing. And the black brute was accustom to finding such things, to find them and burrow deep down into it to create a festering thing upon which darkness fed.
The black auds that rose like the horns of some infernal entity flickered when the other spoke. He claimed that he did. And why? Relevance. Significance. The male leaned back upon his sinewy haunches as if deciding to stay. As if he had not decided before to have a taste of what this male was. Perhaps it was for the best that this male, who surely belonged to some pack, had met him first upon his arrival. And the pied Korean did not believe in coincidence.
There was a sound, quiet, almost inaudible, like the grating of stones—a mirthless sound. And as it died, perhaps it could have been identified as a soft laughter, empty, almost taunting in such respects. “Indeed,” that tenor voice agreed, and that sound was dangerously assuaging. Indeed. Here they were, perhaps more alike and different than they would like to admit. Or perhaps he liked to admit it. And he wondered then with what manner of wolves his pretty little daughter had been sharing company. The black eyes assessed him, that cold impersonal essence dripping from them like blood from the sockets of newly gouged eyes. Blind and yet all seeing. “Good and Evil—there is no such thing,” the cold tenor murmured. And then, even quieter, “But the Darkness knows that.” Or perhaps, there was no good. All creatures had the potential that the Darkness provided, and the Light.... It was always tainted. He had never seen purity, for in all hearts was Darkness.
“Taste?” It was repeated as if he had never heard the word before. And there was a slight pause as if he were considering his response. Yet he knew already what it was that he desired. The black orbs flickered with that sinister intent and with that faint mockery, as if he did indeed know something. “I have come to these lands knowing that my blood is harbored here. That soul offers me something, and so I have come to taste it, to taste what was promised me.” Had the pied brute known that the lighter male before him had already deflowered his daughter, it would have been a different matter. But even with such circumstances, the brute would have what he wanted. He had come for it and would not leave without it.