Hoshor Plains There's a beat that's in my heart, and it's keeping me alive.

@Sanguinus for you, sweet delight~

 

Siqsa roamed a bit, his intent mainly on clearing land and finding out whether prey were readily available, but moreso to clear his head. The near 2 year old was stuck in some phase where he couldn't understand why his mind just didn't feel the same, anymore, like it was just being sizzled alive in the presence of this pack he had joined. He felt as though he was on the scale that couldn't tell him the truth. Was he too aware to see they were naive in their passion for goodness with each other? Or was he just not meant to fit in with good wolves? He wasn't leaving, that was for damn sure, but his brain just wouldn't shut the hell up and let him be. Either he tipped this way, or that way, and the bipolar flux was fucking with him. He knew it was unfair his behavior to Krasius, and he hadn't meant to - but he had. Now what if that little snot told Kravik? And what if that little snot got him kicked?
What if he was the one with a problem?

Through the debris of plains, he had kicked up a starled ptarmigan, and the fat thing took off with a squeking squak away from him. The Demon narrowed his eyes at it. It was so slow! Garnet golds settled on the plump bird as it scuttled as fast and as far away from him, and in the same pace, the giant yearling stalked toward it with almost uninterested sway. Neck perpetually bent to face his head low and hanging, he watched it with his downed gaze. It was right there, and beady little head flipped this way and that way to find another place to nestle and refuge in. But there wasn't an immediate one, and the damned speckled thing was too chunky to dig itself one in time.
Fear bled into the frantic bird,

And fear tasted nice, sometimes.

Staring down at the bird who was too paralyzed to make a getaway, he debated whether he wanted it to marinate in it's horror, or to kill it now and offer it to Krarius as a 'sorry I admitted I planned to rip your throat out' gift.

The rollicking fields were a breath of fresh air for the wayward traveler, their long unkempt blades dancing about in the early autumn breeze as he made his way through the grassland. The sight fondly reminded him of the golden sea washed in fire and marigold he'd once seen in a dream as a child, a memory so ancient he'd nearly forgotten it in his timeworn mind. Yet it had managed to claw it's way to the surface, and the seasoned champion was grateful for it's brief appearance as he paused atop one of the several worn-down mounds. 

His remaining good eye scanned the pasture thoroughly, eventually coming to rest on the inky hunter stalking his unfortunate prey, just as the winds betrayed the predator and revealed all the paragon wished to know. 

Young. Inexperienced. Unworthy.

A low rumble of disapproval brewed in the man's chest as he debated on whether or not to approach, ultimately deciding that he should try to pry some information out of the stripling before continuing on his way. 

Siqsa lifted a heavy paw and placed it heartily on the breast of the bird, ignoring the pecking and sqweaking sqwacking it was doing, his eyes flittering between nonchalant and emotionless.
He pressed down, shifting the slightest bit of his weight onto the frantic bird. It's motions sped fanatically, plumage flared and feathers beginning to flutter around him and land in the crackled grass they were on.
Another press down, and it stopped moving so intensely as he tilted forward a bit. It struggled to breathe, and he could feel the pressure he cratered on it's breastbone.
An inch more forward, and that very same breastbone snapped, and beady eyes looked up at him as he involentarily stared down at it. It was a pretty bird, nice and whiting while the autumn began to colden the world around them. It twitched as it's lungs had been punctured, and a dribble of red rose between the nasal orafices of the bird and out of the place where the chirps and sqwacks began. They dripped, and stained the sea of dead grass with a lovely red.

Taking his paw off of the still twitching bird, he watched it feebly try to stand before some gurgling noise inside forced it back fown in it's own garnet filth. Shaking his head, he spoke to the dying avian, his blooming baritones trying to unravel what confusion he had in him.

"Not everything is how it is meant to be. You weren't accepted, you have no family which cares about you, and your pack grows wary of what you really are. " But was he really speaking to the bird?
Or to himself?

Molten irises watched the bird as it fought so hard to align itself, but the now red-dappled thing resigned to lie, and wait for the darkness to come.
Eventually, the bird took it's final agonized breath with wet heave, and moved, no more.

He needn't bend down to grab the bird, or rather he chose not to stretch further; his nares had picked up a new scent. A low-hung head of dark navy blue-ish black turned to find another dark wolf weaving with precision through the plains.
And directly for him.
Was it one of the remaining Nightmares? No; it couldn't have been. They had all perished in Slade's wrath.

So then who was it?

He readied himself, bulky body swaying uncaringly as he dug dark nails through the crisp flesh then soft loam of the world.
And he waited.