Deepwood Weald feel loneliness as a predator

Kerberos’s path takes him deeper inland, away from the coast where he has made the beaches and saltwater his haunt. The sea is as much as a comfort to him as it’s always been but there is a looming darkness in the depths of the constantly churning water that he never noticed before. He sees less and less of Atka now, but turns his thoughts away from his deities. He’s not ready to acknowledge that Atka’s hold on him is practically non existent these days; such is a truth that the Aok is not ready to face. Thus, he lives under the creation of a lie that he knows to be a lie but is still able to convince himself is truth. The call of the sea grows quieter the further away he travels from it and when he can hear it no more he casts a forlorn glimpse over his shoulder before trudging forward. Still, he does not go terribly far from the coast. A territory over, in truth. He has yet to formulate any sort of solid plan on what he intends to do through winter and supposes he could do what every one else does: find a pack, settle down. He’ll be six years in the spring: he’s got half of his life yet. He’s just begun to enter that “silver fox” stage of his life.

He moves through the Weald, sparing a glimpse at the tangle of spindly limbs above grateful that they block out the worst of the snows — though admittedly the tall trees do little to buffer the wind, though the red and green ferns dusted in snow that has broken through the ribcage like canopy above offer a small bit of reprieve. Regardless, he barely feels the frigid nip in the air. His coat has grown shaggy for the winter months: thick and heavy and coarse both from nature and because of his salt water baths. The water has grown too cold for that now, though, and it will not be until spring when the earth warms and the days are warmer yet that he will bathe himself in the Sea’s waters. Hot springs would have to suffice for now though he likes having the Sea with him no matter how deep inland he goes.

Kerberos’ stomach lets out a low grumble as he scents a fresh kill and he maneuvers his way to where the blood is splattered with crimson blood: a jugular wound he detects. A failsafe, he realizes as he approaches the scene. The deer was elderly, arthritic by the judge of the turning of and gnarled knots on the joints of it’s legs and had likely died where she lay judging by the position of her body. Sea green gaze sweeps over the treasure he’s stumbled upon and his tongue draws across his jowls in hunger. Kerberos scents at the air for any other carnivores nearby as he approaches with caution. A lone coyote feasts from it’s torn open belly. Kerberos approaches the kill with the intent of bullying the coyote away; or of killing it if it chose not to take the diplomatic approach. It surrenders after a few moments of a dominance struggle between them, judging that it would not win a fight against the Aok and drags the innards away as it retreats. Kerberos rounds the corpse once he is sure the coyote will not be returning and sinks his teeth into the flesh to eat his own fill.

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