Stone Circle he is without a heart

Donovan had hung back, sniffed around the side of their borders. Now he rolls up to party, fashionably late. His massive form impossible not to notice. A confident swagger in his step as his muscles shift beneath an extraordinary brindle coat. The fresh scars gleam with dark skin beneath. He wears them proudly. The curl of his tail high, surely none of them had seen anything like him. 

A god.

He comes to stand close to Merrick’s hip, a fair two feet away. As his wild golden gaze that could rival the sun dancing to each of the wolves present. Malice is obvious in those deadly orbs and his thick ears cup forward, ready to hear the excuses these fools will make up for killing one of Ursus’ own.

Yet the peace doesn’t last long. For he comes in on the best part. A daring smile rips open his maw, muzzle wrinkling and showing off pearly whites used to blood stains. The black bird rushes forward and his eyes go to slits with anticipation. Yes, this is what he lives for. Though he will not move unless told to do so.