Fox's Glade [M] my end and my beginning

Relief.

He had sought relief, and was still seeking it. Relief from his loss of control. Relief from the assault on his body, his mind, his spirit. He had sought relief from rejection, and from his own mistakes. Now, out here, he sought relief from the consequences of seeking relief at all. He had found none, no where, each step he took had lead him further into darkness and caused his heart to tear further. It caused his anger to seat more permanently within him, not as an occasional sentiment, but as the dominant one, as it had been meant to be from the beginning. He thought he had conquered his temper in his stint as a lone wolf, but no, he had only quieted it for a short while.

His growl ceased as he stared long and hard at this strange, strange wolf. His thoughts were perverted, dangerous. He saw not a wolf at all but a medium, a thing, a means to an end. He saw his own relief waiting to be taken. His anger, unchained as it was now, roared to life within his breast and rampaged against his ribs, demanding release. He snarled loudly, and his nails tore deep gouges into the ice as he lunged suddenly for Cicero.  

He sought to seize the boy's muzzle, and his teeth did not seek to do so gently. Wicked, unfettered force was behind them.