Blackbeak Bluff It’s a hit and run

The coast is dark, all except the gloomy light of the moon that illuminates his dark pelt in soft, sickly blues. He’s calm, constantly watching and aware and all of a sudden he’s hearing someone scream his name.

He’s whipping around quick enough to see a blue of white, only continuing to call his name. The fur on his nape instantly stands on end, a long puffing mohawk down the line of his body. His eyes are deadly, auds laid flat, and teeth instantly bared. When the wolf makes contact with him he’s snapping out with wrath, a ragged growl slipping from snarling jaws. He wouldn’t grab and shake, but he would give aggressive warning snaps, gripping and pulling skin and fur if he can. Though not looking to kill or maim, he’s known to quickly switch with the drop of a penny. Right now, he only gives warning shots. 

Back off. His body language says. Eyes piercing and primal, snarls rolling from dark lips as a deep purple tongue flicks out to lick between long canines. He’s and animal and he has no problem acting like one. 

Though, if whoever this wolf is knows him and backs away he will not follow. He will merely gaze back at them with that murderous, animalistic stare.

Who are you? He’s wondering, but can’t instantly stick who they are. Even though it really hasn’t been that long since he left, a lot of memories have escaped him. He can’t pinpoint what’s wrong with him, but he swears it was the entity — the curse. Perhaps it’s the low lighting. Maybe it’s because he’s always in edge. Maybe once they move out of the shadows and introduce themselves he will remember, but for now, he shows teeth and rumbles deep within his chest — a universal sign to watch out.