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Set in Arachnea’s Revenge. I’ll start him out in Lupus form. Backdate this to the 1st, before Ril’o’s death or after to the 4th?
Satisfied. If that was what it could be called, the body of the male was satisfied. But it was not the act of penetrating a female’s body that brought such satisfaction upon him. It was his seed had been deposited within the shell of another to grow slowly within that woman’s womb. But that was all. He had not done it for that physical pleasure, nor for the pleasure of the woman beneath him. He did not do it out of necessity of nature, nor with that simplistic of purposes. The pleasures of the body could not control him, could not demand anything of him. It was curious—did he even feel such a thing? Even when he had tried to take that girl in Halifax, it had not been her body but her fear that excited him. Her innocent blood had been sweet, satisfying. He sneered. But that had not been the purpose of that night. The purpose had been to bring that coyote to him—Onus, she said his name was. And she had made him come. So she had been spared. It was a warning.
He lingered in the lands not far from the Dahlian territories, his silent steps tearing at the earth with those black claws. The pied wolf strode slowly as if with purpose, unhurried by the necessities of time. There was a brooding darkness about him as those fathomless eyes watched the dim forest about him. Already the light of dawn crept fearfully back into the world. The night, with those white teeth that left holes in the heavens, watched quietly, mockingly, awaiting for the return of dusky. And the wolf—he strode through that forest as if he were a shard of that night, given to the day as a warning. The white of his pied coat was warning enough, like the coloured scales of a snake’s hide. And he was silent, that erected posture commanding submission, commanding that the forest relinquish its right to the lands and present it to him. The trees shuddered in the breeze and was silent.
There was a thicker part of the woods in which the shadows had gathered, fleeing the light of the coming day. They shuddered there as the trees did and moved as the brute passed by. But he ceased his fluid movements, lowering that form of sinew upon the muted earth. And he lay there as the symbols of monarchy, a terrible regality wreathing his tenebrous form. And those fathomless eyes passed through the trees as if searching, waiting, as if knowing that another would approach him. Those cruel lips twitched with that cold, mocking sneer. The Korean lowered his head to those merciless paws and closed his eyes, becoming a part of the darkness, for he was the darkness, a quiet, unmistakable presence that required no procession, no adornments. And he lay there like a fallen Raven. Waiting.