Silvertip Mountain Don't look. Hide (mtr.)

SETTING: Late afternoon
Weather: Overcast, heavily raining.
TERRITORY: Silvertip mountain: Glass Cave
TAGS: @Ithrik

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Gore. Grooming. Possible rape. Horrible nastiness. It's Ithrik.

He lays curled within the farthest depths of the shining cave, his small body tucked within himself in a last effort to provide a false sense of security. Light filters through the entrance, reflecting off the crystallized rock around him, painting him in a hue of gold and pink fit for someone other than him. It had mesmerized the boy, pulling him into it's embrace of warming light and settling his shaken mind and heart.

Moonspear. Merrit.

His leg lays beside him, throbbing with pain, ripped open at his inner thigh as a reminder of his foolishness. Blood had dried, sealing the wound for now, though beneath his tattered fur it laid too fresh, too new and it threatened to reopen with the slightest movement. It had already spilled enough, caking his leg and leaving a rather impressive trail—an arrow to where he now seeked refuge.

He groaned, his body still protesting the days earlier events. The rush of adrenaline had taken his energy, zapping him of his strength and leaving him like a tossed rag. His limbs felt like bricks, his head numb and body cold.

He shivered at the temperature, the breeze that swept in from the mouth of the cave to cool his bones and make him aware as it's claws ripped into his wound and cut through his soft coat. It tired him more, and with everything weighing down on him he was forced to close his eyes and and submit to the sleep that called to him.

The metallic tang had left a taste of inspiration - of listlessness that had been unresolved for far too long. It had been so long since he had tasted that sweet flavor and relished in it wholly. The spike in heart rate could only mean that the blood belonged to one of his own. The initial scent of it had been euphoric. So driven by that familiar lust, the beast had all but burst at the premise. The diversion was a welcome and abrupt change of course. The thick coat of blood on his tongue, painted against his lips, fueling his desires from the roof of his mouth, but it wasn't enough. The stilted hound trailed after the scores of blood against earth. He paused at each to relish the flavor and correct his path with newfound glee. After some time, the path was clear. Ithrik ventured after, excitedly and obsessively hunting for his prey. When the scent of the young, harmed creature was all but palpable, he had finally found the hole where his mark had made a temporary resting spot. The dark man stood at the cave entrance, hungering for that aroma. His dark lips were coated in a thick coat of saliva. Each desperate wipe of his tongue was a reminder of the taste he needed. 

Stepping into the dark cavern, the mad hunter shuddered violently. His steps swayed to the right before he staggered back to a straight position. The form of the other wolf was just ahead. The form of the young was slumped into a resting position on the cave floor. The blood had caked over the wounds, but Ithrik could feel the skin's plea for release. It was as though his own flesh was tugged against him, suffocating him. He lapped at the floor, firelight gaze locked on the supple figure of the young in front of him. The wound was almost a shame. If he were to rape the sleeping shape, it likely would not survive. If he was to have his way with it, he would be required to be gentle. He knew well enough that he had been too deprived to reserve himself. The scent of it's blood would be enough to ignite a violence in him that would only be satisfied by a corpse. 

But patience was never so hard. 

The boogeyman slunk a few paces from the wounded figure and leaned back to his haunches. The burning of his gaze did not leave the resting creature. The winds swept through the cave and whipped against his flesh, breaking the surface into a series of goosebumps. His mind waged war, bearing fangs at the premise of taking this life without restraint, and waiting for the expression of horror upon waking to find it's present company. That look of fear was so delightful. The waking nightmare looming merely a few paces away. When the wind swept through his pale ruff again, his lips quivered, a growl rose from the depths of his chest. The lash of his tongue carried the sound of thunder. His hackles rose with heightened confidence, adrenaline spiking through his body. Ithrik rose and merrily approached the figure on the floor once more.

A sound.

The boy twitched his ear as if it was nothing more than an annoying ring, a tune that sought is disrupt him. It pulled him out of his slumber, throwing him back into the reality of the cold world where he let out a hiss through clenched teeth. The stinging was still there at his backside, biting at him. Reminding him that he was still wounded and that it was, in fact, not a dream. He slowly cracked his eyes open into a squint, letting the light fade into his vision with a groan as he looked over his shoulder and down at his leg. Still a bloody mess.

He sighed, and with a repositioning of his shoulders he attempted to get cozy once more before that sound echoed again. It startled the boy, jolting him as he frantically looked from where it came. And there, A figure, cloaked in black with piercing orange eyes stood near him, practically looming over him with a gaze Clay could only describe as a hungry animal. It forced a loud gasp to escape from the youth's jaws, and with a whine he frantically tried to back up into an opposing wall with his useless limb.

"I-" he couldn't find the words. They squeezed their way into this throat, sticking to the walls and jumbling into a mass that only seemed to spur on the rapid rise and fall of his breast as he shuddered with the thundering of his heart in his ribs. "Who are you? Is this your den? I can leave!" He didn't think the cave was occupied with the lack of scent, but if the guy wanted it he could have it! As Clay spoke he attempted to inch himself away further, away from the looming monster's reach, but with a slip of his hind leg he was sent crashing back down onto the smooth surface below with an undignified yelp.

Once more pain zapped it's way underneath his pelt and warmth bloomed at his leg. His wound that was now open, spilling more blood onto his limb before trickling below and pooling onto the shallow ground.