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The slow beating of the dormant heart echoed in the empty darkness— slow, deliberate, brooding....
Many years had passed since the second exile, and the Wolf God Arawn came to him only occasionally, but perhaps it was more convenient to him… Many moons had passed since the presence of the fae Graine was at his side, but he had no need of her. His only need now was of his daughter… And he slept now, with Darkness stroking his neck, with Wind whispering in his ears. And he felt and he listened, and he knew of the darkness of his soul once more. The memory of TaeBin became faded and tattered, nearly forgotten. But he himself remained, young and strong and ever keen of mind....
He rose.
The rocks were cold in the darkness, damp with moisture as if nervous in his presence. Nevertheless, there were things that feared the unknown, that feared the darkness. Corvus Vendetta was a creature of darkness, his soul as elusive as black smoke in all things. Having risen, he breathed deeply the cold air, shaking from him the darkness that groped, whining, at his fur. There was no yawn, no stretching, for he required none. The black orbs were as fathomless as ever. His fur, black and white in their purity, rearranged themselves in an orderly fashion. A light sneer graced the wicked maw as he left the stone abode.
The world about was a new place. Before his deep sleep and after the second exile, the Wolf God Arawn had guided him with slow treachery to this place… this edenic setting. Predators reigned here, though less than he—less than the wolf of darkness.
Black auds pricked forward, considering the new call upon the whining wind. The crows rose up as large ebony paws carried him with speed across the landscape. His movements were ethereal, as smooth as quicksilver, as wild as liquid helium. The great pied wolf seemed untouched by the wind, the thick furs unmoving as he ran, revealing only the movements of the prevailing sinew beneath. Unforgiving black claws, able to leave no vestige, tore now at the terrain beneath the silent paws, tasting the life he had been away from for so long.
This place of calling was quite desirable, even to the pied wolf’s standards. Indeed, much of his life previous had been spent in warm climates, some where winter existed in its frosty form, others were it did not. But the superlatively sculpted body was unaffected by the cold of the warming world, of the weeping world, almost welcoming its deadly touch. The black maw breathed in the crisp air, laying over his soul a new layer of a black, impenetrable substance. Frozen and lethal, warmth had no place there; yet, a single flaw in the seemingly flawless soul would allow a place for another, should the precise finger find and hook itself there....
He stood at the edge of the forest, having emerged from within that darkness. And as he came upon the edge of the wood, the light of the world fell dying.