Ankyra Sound Your temporary touch

The cursed one moves over the sickly blue sand, paws sinking in with his heavy weight, and massive head level with bulky shoulders. 

The entity, more like demon, is beside him — ever present. Alien fingers stroke over his coat, starting at his nape, slipping down his spine, and further to curl them around his spiraled tail. He pulls it then let’s go to watch it snap back in place against his hip. 

The ashen boy growls low in his throat at the constant touch, shifting hellfire eyes to meet the ghostly figure beside him. Lips curling up slightly, exposing teeth, he curls his body to snap at the spirit. Of course his jaws grab a hold of nothing. The spirit doesn’t move, only stares down at him with a smile on his weird lips.

You’re going to have to try harder than that, my anguished hellhound. The voice purrs out mockingly to the devilish wolf. 

Alduin’s taught body puffs out as he takes in a deep breath, a growl still rumbling from his lips. He’s right though, the being before him cannot be touched by Alduin himself. So he turns his cheek and continues his trek huffing out a growling sigh.

The entity never ceases to torment him and to make it worse, Alduin has to listen to the bastard. Or he gets fucking sick. Nosebleeds, vomiting, headaches, ringing in his ears. He has no concern for the wolf unless he listens to his every damn word. He’s been positively cursed and there’s not a thing he can do about it. He’s constantly distracting him, constantly taunting him, constantly touching him, constantly talking to him, constantly ordering him around.

Only Alduin is so distracted, he doesn’t hear the steps moving over to him through the sand. He has no idea someone is around him until he hears a purring growl. His auds shift, his hackles raise, and he’s snapping around with his teeth bared.

Oh, look who it is, Alduin. The entity comments deeply. 

Alduin doesn’t comprehend who it is yet. All he sees is a dark wolf moving closer to him and his guard is instantly up. They’re small and thin, young too. Alduin could snap them in two and he definitely plans to.

So he lowers his head, growls low in his throat, and snaps his jaws in the air as a warning. Spittle flies from dark lips and his snapping bark. A dark tongue peeks from white teeth and string of saliva connects his canines and dribbles from his maw. The Saints eyes, bloody and red, glare at the supposed stranger. They’re primal, thoughtless to everything except death.

He doesn’t move though, only snaps out again, a low string of snarls fall from his maw and rumble in his throat. Death in his eyes the reaper levels them with a glare that could kill. 

Who are you and what do you want? His body language says. He expects them to answer. Especially since the look in their eyes holds familiarity towards him — a look that’s almost soft, expectant. 

But he cannot remember. Why can’t he remember?! His mind is deteriorating into savagery. A shell of his former young self. He wonders if it’s the entity — Banesteppe— doing this to him. Or maybe it’s his childhood trauma. Either, or, it’s driving him mad. 

He knows this wolf. He knows he does. But where? He cannot say.

Only the entity looks amused. Kill her. He orders casually.

The hellhounds eyes never leave the dark wolf, but something in his mind tells him that he shouldn’t. So he disobeys. He will not kill her yet. Not until he finds out how he knows her.