Emberwood oxytocin

The hellhound is in the area, slinking about and making plans with his brother about this and that. Mainly about their main mission, but apparently they’ve gained a few side quests along the way. The most recent, their canyon — their childhood home has been stolen from them. But life can only go one thing at a time, the siblings have much to deal with and there is only two of them.

In times like this he enjoyed being with his brother, but just like anyone else, he craves being alone just as much. So that’s what he seeks to do by walking some miles from their camping spot along the mountains flat base. 

He moves languidly, merely taking in nature and wracking his mind with thoughts that will do nothing but worry him. Heavy paws carry him forward confidently, a massive head even with bulking shoulders, he moves. His mind is elsewhere though, lost in a pit of thoughts and senseless words. 

That is until he’s hearing a sob echo through the forest. 

He would still completely, swiveling spotted ears to gauge the direction. He wonders who weeps — would they be real? Or maybe they’d be another figment of his imagination. 

After a few more seconds, he pinpoints the way and moves straight towards the unhappy stranger. Only to finally spot a small white wolf near a tree, grief written all over her face, she tears into the tree a few seconds later. The young hellhound watches from a distance with muted interest. His drab, emotionless, bloodied eyes watch her dig teeth into the bark without so much as a blink. Though they’re relaxed, he’s gone fairly numb to many emotions except his undying hatred.

The scent of blood reached his nose then and he watches the crimson drip from her maw. His eyes follows it, not conveying any emotion before he finally decides to step forth from his cover. Moving up to her the same way he was walking earlier, with his head lowered to his shoulders and his steps unrushed and lazy. His aura drips deadly confidence and his eyes, though lax, are constantly feral looking.

He would stop to look at her a comfortable distance away before speaking,

“What did the tree do?” He asks in that rumbling tone of his. The question would come out more like a statement though, and despite his words his tone holds no jest. Even though it is a joke to him, his humor is dry and menacing at best.