Alpine Lake Red Crossroads.

Dorus's lips peel back further, that almost un-wolfish grin seeming monstorous in the shade of the trees. No anger, despite the danger of Kynareth's tone? No threatining baying that would call forth the rest of the pack to his side to dispatch of such a terrible creature...? That was interesting. With his hind legs aching the addled wolf sits and raises a skinny hindleg to scratch dead skin from the tips of those half-ears.

"The New world is a world where there arent a score of packs, of course. Not a hundred, not fifty, not twenty... just one." A pale, slimey tongue rolls out the side of his maw as the male chuckles hoarsely. "The New World is a world where 'pack law' doesn't exist. I despise 'traditional' pack laws, you see." 

A wet wheezing, a bubbling in his throat, and a wad of sickness spat to the ground. Power was an addiction, a phantom calling ever-ringing in his head, and with every dead thing that laid at his paws he remembered the way they used to treat him.

Well, who was laughing now? 

"I wanna' kill weak wolves... I wanna' kill the ones who think they have power when it's just an illusion... this large, insignificant stretch of space and the hundreds of beings that hide together behind their bounderies, rally around their little personal laws... I want to see them dead."

The smile lessened.

"Because I am bitter. Because I am vengeful; but most importantly, because I love to kill."