While Death Taunts, Voices Struggle

Anyone is welcome to answer. @crescendo

Muck clings to his paws, he snarls at it. All around the area water lay in still patches. He was in a swamp. What a horrid place in these woods. He had been following the scent of blood, of wolf's blood. Someone was injured. That makes him grin. Kill, the voices chorus. If the thing is still alive. Search, they plead. Golden eyes skim the damp area. He hopes it still lives, even if barely. He could find the poor creature, put it out of it's misery. A shiver racks his body. It has been a long while since he has killed. He is eager to do so again. But what if it is dead? A growl hums low in his chest. To tempt him with such desire is almost painful. It has to still be alive. Alive, the voices agree. Hunt, they urge. Cold, damp ground kisses his nose. It hides the trail. He sneezes his frustration at it. Truly this place is the worst part of these beloved woods. Such darkness and wonder it had held when he first stood at it's boarders.

A black entrance meets his gaze across the swamp. He strides towards it. Sniffing into it's depths once at the edge. The smell of the wolf blood strongly lingers inside. His breath hastens, claws digging into the soft earth. It is a tunnel. Here, the voices taunt. Yes, the wolf was in there. Hurry, they call. He takes a slow step forward. Could he go in there? He pauses just inside. Dare he? The moon cast broken shadows over him. His own large shadow melds into the tunnel. What if the pack does not allow newcomers down in the depths of this place? He is supposed to hide his intentions here. He sits, his shadow following. Squinting into the darkness, a glow catches his eyes. Light? Why was there light in a tunnel that leads down into the earth? It is as if the tunnel invites him. He forces himself to stay, teeth grinding.

If the wolf was bleeding out then it would be dead soon. He could go down there, sit in front of the wolf. Watch it desperately beg him for help. He would grin, eyes wild. Slowly the light in its eyes would fade. He would lean close, telling the wolf no one would save it now. Watch the panic roll over it's body. Watch it thrash and struggle. Then he would strike out, take it's throat in his jaws and tear it open. Warm, luscious blood would flow over his muzzle. He licks his lips at the thought, the taste on his tongue. The ominous wolf stands, he takes another slow step forward. Then another paw brushes over the ground. He stops again, fighting the longing. Why stop? The voices question. Pretend, they answer. He snarls at them silently. Maybe he should look for another pack member? He would naturally be curious about such a place. Nothing suspicious there.

He backs out of the entrance, sitting at the edge once more. Singing frogs irritate his ears. Turning, he spots one sitting close enough. He lunges forward, teeth bared. Something squishy struggles in his mouth. White points clamp down savagely; thickness wets his jaws. Strong paws grip the small creature; daggers shred it. Blood splashes his face and chest. His eyes gleam in the moonlight from the kill. That felt a little better. Something cold soaks his paw. He had stepped in swamp water. Glancing down, a dark and crazed face stares back. Blood splatter drips from his muzzle causing the water to ripple. Control, the voices growl harshly. They were ones to talk. Trust, the voices say. A paw splashes in the murky water, then attempts to clean the mess from his face. He is discovering that keeping his nature at bay is nearly impossible. The voices are no help either. They were confusing him.