In Whispers, the Darkness Calls (joining)

@Meldresi . Anyone is welcome to answer. I'm trying out a different style than I'm used to :x I hope this turns out okay!

Red bleeds through a thick forest. Shadows, long and daunting, stretch their hands over snowy grounds. A large wolf sniffs the edge of a pack territory, golden eyes piercing the darkness. His fur is lit by the sinking sun from behind, setting aflame the brown and red hues of his coat. His strong head then lifts, high and proud, to stare intently into the trees. What wolves did lie behind this maze of trunks? What secrets were held in such a place? Legs braced in the cold layers of untouched snow, he lifts his snout to let drip a deep and haunting howl.

Sharp teeth clamp down, the howl is left to echo over this tempting place. The dark forest calls to him, ringing deep in his bones. What stranger will answer his summons? Who will choose to meet with this large and ominous wolf? A spark flickers in his gaze, ambition grips him with the claws of compulsion. A longing for power whispers promises in his delicate ears. Command them, they say. Take their trust, they advise. Teeth glint, pulled free from the lips of their prison. He grins with evil intention. Plans. He has plans for them all. Hidden, the voices caution. Suspect, they warn. Blood, demands his soul. Flesh, pleads his fangs. A shiver wracks his body. He commands it to still. He will satisfy the desires that call to him. They must be patient; all will be acquired in due time.

Darkness has tainted him, eating away his sanity. Alone he has always been, alone he will forever remain. Pain he has known not, love he has known not, pack he has sought. Does he seek them for normal reasons? No, he requires fulfillment. A hunger, dangerous and endless, follows him. It had started soon after he was broke from his mother's teat. Demanding his attention, it has grown. Who's to say his uncle's death was not an accident? He had not devised it, it was a spark of genius. That's how he saw it. Scare the herd of moose towards his unsuspecting, beloved uncle. But wait, did he know? There were small signs, almost insignificant. Did Grim spot the fact his uncle saw the darkness inside? Barely, but he knew. The daft wolf feared him, but he was not good enough to hide the fact. Grim found that he enjoyed the knowledge that his uncle was afraid of him. He fed off the hidden fear. But did the old male suspect that? No, Grim was better. He was careful, he was deceitful.

These wolves, they won't know. They won't suspect. He can deceive them, he will give them a wolf they can trust. He will be the oaf, his uncle. Always a lesson he had to teach. Always a helping paw he had to put in. It was disgusting to watch such kindness. But the kindness still lives in you, calls a soft voice. He pushes it aside, the darkness has won. Or has it? The soft voice taunts. He bears down on it. The softness flees before his fury, back to its cage in his heart. There is still weakness within him; he despises it. A few more deaths on his paws and he will be free from kindness. Forever.