Shy Deer Steppes little lion

Intended to take place August 27th

For days all he saw was red. The red of his brothers fur, the flecks of it in his father's eyes, the red sand that covered the territory he had loved. The only red Cinar carried was that which was in his veins.

He was a good man. He had only done ever what was best for his pack, and now he would do what was best for himself.

He could see the lion from here. For a moment it brought back pleasant memories, his mother calling out "little lion, why do you cry?" but never to Cinar. He was not the lion, he was the viper. She knew, that was why he had been raised with teeth as sharp as his tongue. But for all his venom, he was no killer. He hadn't been until it was necessary.

It was easy to lay in wait, timing his moment to strike. He would do what was necessary to carve out this part of his life, and move on.