Was the world meant to be so much less worry while within a pack? While most wolves found the companionship to be proper and even great, the Demon found it terrible. It made him unease, and this forced him out of the den, a notch of a den carved out of the mountains ledge. It was nice and hidden by the shade of the day and the angle which it sat at, while at night time the rotation of the moon allowed it to be visible, dark abyss against the wall of lightly blue tinged grey of the mountain. And out he came from the den as Dusk fell, standing on the edge of the ledge with lowly hung head as though he were some kind of gargoyle. Swaying from side to side, he stretched his hips and joints, then began his usual patrol. Who knows; he might run into Karvik again, tonight. Or, he bitterly thought, Ruenna. She could be watching him this very second, blending in with the shadows, and plotting his early demise!

With more determination, he loped down the trail of the steep incline, body jauntily swaying with every step. Even the way he walked was dangerous. Eventually, he made it down the walk, and left the plateau's masterpiece, setting off into the forests and trailing back to the river. Deep blue sheen hidden by the shadows, only to re-emerge scantily between flits of moonlight through the heaves of fall-tinged leaves. Was he there? Or was he not?

The breeze was nice, but ut was indeed chilly, and the clouds didn't assist in getting him found out. That however wasn't a problem for him. In solace was he, and he enjoyed the solitude. He almost had the inkling to relax himself, but his mind simply wouldn't allow it. With a sigh, the molten-eyed yearling kept forward, digging claws into trees when need be, scratching himself across trees who's warnings of territory began to grow faint.

 

Something akin to a mouse's spine snapped behind him, and knowing it was right behind him, his upturned hackles conjoined with his mangled and backwards scruff, becoming the collar of a cape to the Demon. He said nothing though; if someone wanted to off the yearling, then they had better do it before he managed to get them, first. Impatient for the potential end, he turned a lowered crown behind him, a burning gem to his right, using his peripheral to assess the coming foe.

Nenx drastâona, his nares told him. New blood.

His gait continued, the swagger from side to side as his growing body took those steps forward on the patrol. Left, and right, almost hypnotic, the sway. 

"Surprised you chose me to walk with, tonight.[font]" A minute smirk laced his words. "[/font]Especially considering I was ready to rip your throat out if you disrespected Kavik in any way."

He wasn't purposefully being rude - the yearing was actually being honest. He also didn't speak much, so any sort of conversation was either going to be awkward or unnerving at best.

Siqsa watched the smaller male slink off to be away from him, and immediately the concession of voices started, coating his mind with the negativity he was expected to marinate in. The very same acidic drench he had ripened in all of his life, so far.

Evil.
You hurt, you kill, you maim.
Nothing will become of you.
You are a monster.

The true son of a Nightmare.

All of it replayed over in his mind with such conviction that he became numb to everything around him. Turning back to his trek, he continued on his heartless path, marking what lay unmarked or faded.

Almost briefly, he passed under that shard of moonlight and with it came some sort of sparkle under his left eye.
Was it a tear?...