Wapun Meadow broken fingernails

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.