Hideaway Strath A Test Of Faith.

I’m sorry Sunhawk! :’> I luh you but Donnie boy loves to go chomp!

The reaping has begun and the blood seeping from his maw drips messily down over his cream chest. Staining red as well as splattering his face. It feels good, oh so good. He’s been so contained the last few weeks, he’s been too friendly, too normal. No that is not how he is meant to be. He is a force of natural destruction, he desires death and submission. Only then perhaps will his thirst for tyranny be quenched. 

This feeling only increases as he watches the other wolves before him take their full and lessens when others do not. Though, despite his words, he doesn’t take it as seriously as one might think. He couldn’t give a rats ass if they participated or not. As long as they will fight for him or at least help in some sort of way when things seriously go down then he’s perfectly fine. For this act of brutality is different than a life or death situation, on the Saints side at least. 

Though expectantly, Leigh’s sheiks screams for the terror to stop have him spitting the chunk of skin and muscle from his lips and whipping his head towards her. She can attack or yell at him how she will, but he will not hurt her and he will not stop. Or that’s what he believes until a foreign voice cuts through screams of death. Then as his gaze is previously on Leigh he whips his head the opposite direction. That other wolf that was traveling with the Ursus male, Revui so long ago — Sun something or another. He shakes his head with a sickening, blood stained, toothy smirk on his usually handsome face as he watches Derg sprint past him and into the body of the stranger. 

He absentmindedly has the idea to fuck Derg’s brains out later only because the scene before him has him feeling some type of way. Seeing the usually passive Overseer sink his teeth into others has his pelt heating up pleasantly and he’s eagerly kicking up dirt to meet him. A murmuring of, “You guys got this.” to the wolves chewing on the poor girl as he swiftly makes himself known beside his other half, his Overseer. 

His heavy body also slams into the poor innocent wolf. “Wrong place, wrong time, my friend!” Donovan sings mercilessly to the poor Sunhawk. He aims for the junction of neck and shoulder as he widens his maw woth vicious daggers on display made for ripping and tearing. He puts them to good use, turning his attention onto this new sacrifice. If he’s able to get a hold he will shake the others body to and fro ruthlessly. Mercy is dead to him today.