Deepwood Weald Blood Cult

Euuugghhh. Did they really have to do this? The boy wasn't disturbed by all of the shit Abaddon was planning, but he was awfully annoyed he invited others - especially the woman that had so clearly disrespected him. He wore a scowl this whole evening, shooting daggers at whoever dared enter the circle. Abaddon wouldn't abandon him for these freaks, right? He was so much more sophisticated than them - even though in reality he was but a bad-tempered brat with the size to back it all up.

If he had to go by how big his paws were getting, Death was sure he would tower above a crowd easily in a few moons. His puppy face was growing into its manliness, though the scowl did nothing for his handsomeness. Anyone willing to mention it would be met with insults.

And so the not-quite-teen moped against a tree, separating himself from the others but sticking close enough to overhear. He nearly gagged at the woman's words. If Abaddon ever decided to stick a dick in that bitch, surely all hope would be lost. You don't stick your dick in crazy after all.