The prodigal son of chaos had returned, and he was determined to realign himself with his own birthright.
Wasn't that, after all, the name of the star he once bore on his shoulder, before Kerberos tore it off? Wasn't chaos the essence of his lineage? The shadowy male moved in the darkness of the setting sun, careful to tread through flowing streams and large snow drifts. He was at enough of a disadvantage with his orange hued muzzle and the remnants of the Lykoi tattoo on his shoulder. Columbine was very clearly a Lykoi, and hoped that, wherever he was going, there would be noone who could readily identify him. The man unashamedly loved the thrill of the kill, of the hunt of other wolves; he would not reveal this to his brothers, but the man was a murderer.
He remembered the first time he sunk his teeth into another and felt their life ebb away under his steely grip. It was only several days after he left Jacinto, Ilusion, and his mother; the male was still filled with rage, and he could not find any other outlet for it. The creature had been small, only at the beginning of its life, and it had the audacity to sass him. Him! Columbine Lykoi, who had, for years, protected his siblings against the tyranny of their father. And for what? For scars and insolence? For Helotes to leave, acting as if he were the leaders of the Lykoi siblings? Helotes, so high and mighty on his unscathed throne - he hadn't protected his younger siblings against their father. Columbine could not forgive his brother for such disrespect. All he wanted was some goddamn respect. Was that so difficult?
Respect. That was why the wolf had to die. It sassed Columbine, and Columbine, in his large secui form, challenged the creature to a fight. It did not last long, and the Lykoi man left the scene with blood staining his chops and his excited eyes glowing like embers in the night. Murder sat well with him, and his conscious did not protest. Kerberos saw to that, long ago. The man who gave Columbine life would also, ultimately, destroy any shred of good left in the ashen man. Perhaps that would be for the best.
He heard of this while on his many midnight wanderings. A group of canines, determined to cause chaos for a pack in the North. Columbine was indifferent to their reasons; the shadowy male was only interested in the destruction and death that could only accompany an unprovoked attack. He'd taken great care to ensure all scents of Inferni were washed away, so as to not involve the Clan in any unnecessary battles. Columbine had great aspirations for Inferni, and though he had not revealed them to many, he found it imprudent to do anything that might shed a negative light on him.
Soon he found the gathering, and the shadowy male stayed a distance away for several minutes while he shifted into his large, thickly corded Optime form. It was, by far, the most impressive of the three, though he did not use it while traveling. The snaps and cracks of his body shifting were probably visible; regardless, Columbine was confident in the rapid transformation of his body. Several minutes passed, and soon he was crouched on two legs and propped up with two arms. He stood and shook a bit, dark red eyes scanning for any danger before approaching the gathering. But, he was silent, and would not speak until something exciting happened. However, if he found himself unimpressed by this, Columbine would leave and create his own chaos.
[/html]