The morning was chilling, as was to be expected from winter, but it was not unbearably cold. Loosely packed snow crunched beneath the weight of Sinaaq's steps as the ebony wretch moved leisure and precision, winding his way around the tune like Woodland of Neverwinter Forest as if he owned the place. Been only one other Woodland that he had been lured too, though Blackfoot Forest was much further north and Neverwinter did not hold such a sinister feel as it's comparison; at least what Sinaaq had seen thus far. He enjoyed the press of shadows the trees lent to the forest around him, enjoyed the musk of the small woodland creatures that inhabited them. The darkling enjoyed the lush darkness that could sometimes even be considered abysmal that the night brought with it. Sinaaq Arrluk do not fear the dark, nor it's shadows. In fact, there was little that he did fear though this tolerance had came at an early age. The one thing he had feared the very most in the world had already happened him and five, nearly six months later there was nothing else to fear.
Not even death itself. After all, it seemed redundant to be afraid of something that he was a harbinger of. Though Adlartok had killed Frigga — Sinaaq had watched it happen with his own eyes — he had been present and in the case of Glimmer it had been he that killed her, spilling blood in the forest with the voice of the dead rose to a fever pitch scream, pleading and condemning and he had left them with a parting gift of his older sister's greedy and cruel soul. A slight shiver had worked its way down the darkling's spine and he shook it off. Glimmer could not take Adlartok from him any more. The irony of that did not feel to escape his notice, however. How hard he had fought and killed mercilessly to selfishly keep the boy himself, living and last relic of Frigga he would ever have only for the wretched and ungrateful boy to leave him anyway. A soft hiss of displeasure escaped Sinaaq's parted lips with a deep breath he took, his warm breath snaking out of his black, leathery nostrils in a white furl of steam.
Being alone with his poisonous thoughts had never been a good thing, and since the disappearance of his nephew they had become much more lethal. Perhaps, Sinaaq considered, that was why he accepted the offer of companionship when he had first came into contact with Quicksilver. He had been desperate for a distraction — A break from his tormenting and tormented thoughts and Quicksilver had offered the release for them; a very efficient distraction. Though, admittedly Quicksilver had ventured off — most days Sinaaq assumed it was to chase some poor girl who he desired to use as his next conquest, but Sinaaq confident that his companion would return to him because he always returned; it was the one thing that Sinaaq could count on upon currently in his life. And that he'd never admit it: he appreciated it.