Sinaaq enjoyed venturing about, though admittedly his unwillingness to take Quicksilver on every excursion that he went upon could have very well made Sinaaq look like a recluse. If it did, Sinaaq was hardly bothered by such a word. It was no secret that the only company Sinaaq could truly tolerate was his own and even
that was questionable on a good day. Lately, when Sinaaq found himself as he usually did: alone, his thoughts would snake back from the darkest abyss he worked so hard to keep them caged within in the company of others, and continue their desires of poisoning him. A day did not go by in which the darkling did not think of those that had left craters in a roughly stitched and still festering with open wounds heart: Frigga, Adlartok, Solia. He had loved them all once, in the way that Sinaaq knew how to love and all the heart that their bodies had rejected was killing him. Not physically, obviously, but emotionally.
Or perhaps it was backwards. Perhaps his rejection of everyone was what was killing him now. The wounds they had left in their wake would not heal, Sinaaq knew, until he could learn to let go. He was possessive, however, and coming to peace and letting go of everything he had loved and lost felt like it was nearly impossible.
Not impossible, he amended himself, he had let go of the egg and sperm donors only to now see them as a blight to the Arrluk family. Ignorant and lack witted as they were it was hard for Sinaaq to admit on most days that he was actually their spawn; that he had not burst from the skull of some dark godling as Athena had burst from Zeus' own. A sour look had twisted the Arrluk's pretty boy features as his thoughts buzzed, insistent and unrelentingly, only to be broken as a shout echoed from quite nearby. , followed closely after by the loud protests of a flock of birds as they rose into flight, startled. Steps that had been taking him closer to Silvertip ceased and ears cupped forth to listen. For a few heartbeats Sinaaq was entirely silent, even sucking in his own breath to give himself a more accurate reading on the origins of the noise.
Another yelp came after and without hesitation Sinaaq took off in the direction now that he had a rough location. Dark curiosity fueled the darkling's journey upwards and surprisingly, it did not take him long to find the source — Sinaaq assumed — of the yelps. A sandy colored male who stank of a pack, one that Sinaaq recognized by scent but did not know the name of yet was sitting upon his haunches, holding his one paw in a strange angle — as if he were attempting to avoid placing too much weight upon it. After Sinaaq's failed attempt to get anything useful from Redhawk Caldera he had not truly sought to approach anyone else about it, or any of the other packs on his so called Outrider business. The darkling hadn't forgotten, more so he was contended to sit back and scheme for the moment. Besides, he had more important things to do than chase after the tails of the Caldera. He let the chasing of tail to Quicksilver.
As he drew nearer the darkling stopped in his approach, leaving space between the two of them. Sinaaq was hardly what anyone might consider a social creature and in truth he did not care (not even a tiny bit) about the other's injury. It was not in his nature to care beyond himself (and the last couple of times he had, he'd gotten burned badly). Sinaaq had learned his lesson about what caring for others truly did when they left. He was not blind anymore to sympathy, and devoid of it was now, the other male was, unfortunately, met with indifference. "It was you that made all that noise?" The words were less of a question and more of a statement as Sinaaq rolled along with his own assumption, fixing the other in his fierce stare.