The light was fading fast and a quiet lull had crossed over with the eventide. The devil prowled with wild, wavering steps across a land he was all too unfamiliar with. It mattered very little where Ithrik found himself; there were many marks to claim wherever he should travel. The wilds had been so very kind to him and his nephew. The devil believed that it would be far more kind if he sought to breach the edges of the packs. The closer he drew, the more the air smelled like sweet flesh. All of them were different, but each one tickled his taste buds in a delectable fashion.

Inky legs began to blend with the darkness of the earth. Though the sun had not fully set, it could only cast a slight shimmering light across the meadow below. Ithrik would prefer to travel through the dimness that dusk provided. A chilling breeze swept through the pasture with a wicked bite. The flesh along his hocks and rear pricked with the touch of it, but he did not slow... not yet.

The piebald hound lingered for a while longer in the meadow. His eyes drifted lazily over the tips of foliage that poked through the snow. Ithrik swayed against the touch of the wind as it hounded against his frame, holding him in a lively state of enlightened seeking. The devil did not see any who would stand out against such a dismal background.

Suddenly, the burning tangerine color of his gaze latched tightly to a moving figure cloaked in ivory. His tongue flicked across his muzzle as he peered on her, and the pits of his stomach longed for him to pull closer. Ithrik listened and began to trot forward on lengthy limbs. He wondered if Iliksis' method was better for drawing women to him, so he attempted a pleasant smile – this warped into a wicked show of rotten fangs and a sinister glint in his gaze. With this, the vile creature prowled toward the unsuspecting victim.

The pale female did not seem to be bothered by his presence. The devil safely assumed that it was because she did not know how closely he lurked behind her. A sickening rasp exited his lips as he parted his mouth and drew a salmon-colored tongue along the dark hairs of his muzzle. A swatch of drool landed in the snow, tinted pink from his previous endeavor. Still, Ithrik hungered. The killer would hunger until he had rasped his final breath; nothing would ever be more evident.

Picking his pace up, the devil closed in on his mark. With soot limbs, Ithrik rose and leaped – his aim was to strike against her shoulder. If he was successful, he would sink his fangs into her scruff and rip her through the snow.

Ithrik always thought that blood against a pallid coat was a stunning color.

The pale coat leaped out of of his way. Ithrik moved past her and swung wide, lowering his head to defend the tender underside of his neck. He cared very little to be subtle; the devil was not at all like his nephew when picking his victims. The pale mask over his eyes lifted some. The burning of his gaze rested on her features with a savage hunger. Circling wide around her, the devil curled his lip over gnarled, rotten teeth and he smiled. The vile brute paused, raising his skull upward and searching for the weakest point in which he could land a strike. The hunger ached against his gut. He would taste her, no matter her speed or strength.

With a few swaying steps, he began to close the distance that stood between them. His shoulders rolled as he drew toward her figure. The vile hound regarded her with a raised muzzle before he darted forward, jaws agape, aiming to latch tightly to one of her slender limbs.

Nasty teeth latched tight to her limb and he dug as deep as he was allowed. His breath came in heavy, ragged gasps that were desperate for her to hold still and let him have his way so that he might leave her, but Ithrik did not know that he could stop once he started. Her plea fell against his ears and he almost laughed at the tone. She was pathetic and weak. It was not that his overtaking her was a good demonstration of his strength, but that she deserved to be pulled down to the pits of the earth so that she would know the wrath of all that was evil in that world. The Apostle had told him as much, and so Ithrik knew it to be true, so he would follow the bidding of what he knew and he would sink himself into her so deep that she would feel him for the rest of her waking life.

The vile creature swung his head from side to side in an attempt to limit her mobility. Pulling his fangs free from her limb, the piebald devil swung himself wide and then moved to plant himself on her back. His arms moved to wrap around her, wanting to pull her close to him. “It's going to hurt a lot more,” he sneered wickedly, parting his jaws and aiming to latch them tight to the nape of her neck.

His teeth latched to the scruff of her neck and he shook his head from side to side in an attempt to keep her quiet while he positioned himself at her rear and then sunk deep. The devil's movements were rapid and he would yank and pull at her nape every time she attempted to cry for help. She managed to choke out a strangled howl to someone, but he paid very little mind to the reaction that she had. They all liked to call for help; they all believed that someone was out there who would hurry to their aid if they should need it, but the unfortunate truth was that most were too busy with their own lives to stop and wander into the wilderness to assist another.

When he had finished, Ithrik yanked himself off of her and sneered coldly toward where she was. There was nothing so satisfying as breaking another. That hunger still ached from within him and he wondered if he should stay behind to chew what he could from her body. The vile hound continued to circle around her frame so that she would not have an opportunity to escape if she should try. His gaze bore into her body and he wondered faintly if he had missed his opportunity to take a trophy or if he would have the chance to whittle her down to organs and bone.