Moonspear we, the savage

Corrupt.

The moon clung to his pelt, illuminating the fine gold of his heritage and stirring his eyes heavenward. I, the damned, he whispered quietly to himself, his voice hoarse from lack of use for the past weeks.  He hadn't uttered those words since he had been a child--had tried to run from them, even. 

Perhaps, instead, he had needed to embrace them. His tongue glided smoothly over his lips, his brows furrowed in quiet thought as the blood bound wolf roamed. He had begun to acquaint himself with his new home--though despite the months of traveling, he still could not find rest when the darkness came. 

And so he prowled. Running the shadows. Tracing every dip and groove to muscle memory. Unwilling to let opportunity slip from him once more.