Great Bear Wilderness Take me to church,

all welcome!

In the shadows of the forest, Lorcan moved with an elegance that belied his muscular frame. The dappled light of the setting sun filtered through the leaves above, casting fleeting patterns on his dark, raven-like fur, which shimmered with hints of mahogany. Each step was calculated, a predator in his element, keenly aware of his surroundings and the soft whispers of the world around him.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the lingering aroma of fallen leaves, drawing him deeper into the heart of the woods. With a playful flick of his tail, he paused, ears perked, listening to the subtle rustling in the underbrush—a signal of life, of potential prey, or perhaps a fellow wanderer.

Lorcan's striking appearance could captivate even the most hardened of hearts. He was both a visual feast and a dangerous enigma, exuding a charisma that could entice others into his web of cunning and charm. Yet beneath the seductive veneer lay a mind always scheming, assessing every opportunity that presented itself.

As he ventured further, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was exhilarating. Perhaps a rival lurking in the shadows, or a curious stranger drawn in by his presence. Regardless, he relished the thrill of uncertainty, the sweet anticipation of the hunt—be it for companionship or conquest. Today would unfold as it pleased, and he would embrace whatever fate had in store for him.

I'm throwing my freak at you i hope you don't mind

And being watched he was, ogled really, beady eyes of rich mahogany followed the shadow-man. Envy was a great many things—(most unpleasant), but she was not immune to good looks and moreso, intriguing scars. This one had a pretty one right down his equally as pretty face.

He was not so ravaged as some, much to perverted disappointment, but the imp still found herself intrigued. She always was; strangers could be so entertaining, when they weren't more eager to use their teeth.

As if the threat of imminent death could stop her. She walked a tightrope of reckless endangerment near constantly. Thought herself above danger, moreso the harbinger of it herself.

Nobody would hurt little old me! Ignoring the numerous occasions where it had happened. She learned nothing. Call that optimism or perhaps naivety.

Right. She'd been looking for plants initially. Silly thing. So easily distracted. Well they could wait, curiosity overpowers; as it always did. Without a scrap of self-preservation, the wretched girl made herself known, casually slipping from the bracken, an owlish tilt of her head cast toward the other.

Hey. She'd yip, and keep her stare focused on the side of his face. How'dya get that?

Rather forward. You can lead a horse to water but you can't teach it how to socialize like a normal person.

Lorcan's gaze lingered on the small, gangly female as she slipped through the bracken, her red eyes shining with reckless curiosity. He leaned back, adopting a casual posture, though his muscles were coiled like a spring beneath his dark fur.

Ah, a bold one, I see, he mused, his voice smooth and inviting. He tilted his head, allowing the scar over his eye to catch the fading light, a testament to the dangers he had faced.

She asked about the scar, her boldness intriguing him. He allowed a sly grin to spread across his face, revealing a hint of danger behind his charm. Just a little reminder of past encounters, he said, almost wistfully.

He watched her with an amused glint in his golden eyes, intrigued by her apparent lack of self-preservation. Tell me, do you often seek out danger? he wondered, his interest piqued.

Leaning slightly closer, he maintained an air of casual confidence, an unspoken challenge hanging between them. You should be careful, he added, a hint of mischief threading through his tone, or you might just find yourself in trouble.

With that, he leaned back, letting his gaze linger on her, silently inviting her deeper into the perilous game he played.

Hook, line, sinker.

He had evaded her question though. Ah, as usual; a touchy subject. She did not care to shed her own secrets bare, it made her expect it of others.

Inconceivable. It frustrated her. She needed to learn the art of coersion—and put more into it than the batting of eyelashes.

I was looking for plants. Are you saying you're dangerous? She lifts a pale forelimb and leans back in place, a look of suspiscion cast his way; coal-tipped ears fell back. She did not trust him persay, but she did see something mischevious in his gaze. So it was a game, then.

Not to be taken too seriously. Her crooked tail offered a quick swipe to the dirt as she reclined back onto scrawny haunches; returned his gaze with a wide-eyed stare of her own.

Lorcan's grin widened, glinting like a blade in the low light as he watched her settle back, suspicions apparent but curiosity prevailing. The scarred wolf took his time, his gaze roving over her strange, scrawny form with a slow, appraising intensity that felt like it peeled back layers.

As she reclined, he moved closer, the shift subtle, intimate, like he was letting her in on some secret only they shared. His stare was steady, playful even, the gleam of mischief in his eye suggesting he found her suspicion both amusing and enticing.

He moved a fraction closer, his presence pressing, almost intoxicating. Careful, little shadow, he added, voice a soft, dangerous tease. You never know what you might find when you follow someone like me.

A faint chuckle escaped him, as if the mere thought of her quest for “plants” amused him beyond measure. Though I must admit, a little danger never hurt anyone. It keeps life interesting, don’t you think?

He tipped his muzzle toward her, a wordless invitation wrapped in mystery. There was no need for promises or threats; the teasing glint in his eye hinted at danger and intrigue alike, leaving her to wonder just what she’d stumbled upon.

I could be dangerous too. She quips, askew head returning to an upright position. More dignified, not that she had much to begin with. She'd been giving it away for a long time. Urchin and far worse after that.

And what have I found? Not a fight, I hope... You wouldn't stand a chance... She grinned, leering in a bit. She liked this game.

Oh, but she was dangerous. Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but a risk all the same. Everything touched had claw marks in it.

..S'pose it does. I perfer when others are in the danger, though. Gives me somethin' to work away at when they come back.

Surgeons hands itched to be employed. One of life's little joys. One of the only joys, really. Most things were dreadfully boring.

His eye still intrigued her—it looked like her brothers, but this one was far less ugly and probably remarkably less stupid. Again she found her stare lingering. Perhaps... A secret for a secret? She perked tattered ears, and wrapped her crooked tail neatly around her paws.

Lorcan tilted his head, leaning in close, his breath grazing her ear as he whispered, If you think yourself dangerous, then let’s see how you handle a little mystery. A low chuckle rolled from his chest, dark and amused. Tell me, little one... what kind of danger do you think you are?

His gaze was unwavering, pulling her in with a promise of something both thrilling and treacherous. Maybe then, he added, lips brushing the faintest edge of a smirk, I’ll consider sharing what made me this way.

What kind of danger?

The kind not even she understood. Bone deep and etched into the soul like some sick loveletter written by a laughing god.

All wrong. Mother knew it.

Nature? Nurture? A mix of the two? It was far too long ago now to identify, and she did not wish to delve into the fog of her own scattered little mind.

But god, she wanted to know oh so badly, the confession slipped out; one she hadn't spoken about since her travels to these wilds. Well, it was only a matter of time, this one felt the weight of secrets on her back and it felt strangely good to say it aloud. Surely it was inconsequential. He was a stranger.

I've killed before.

Her sort of danger was spontaneous. An ever-lingering threat. A gazelle drinks water at the river 100 times. 1 of those times, the crocodile strikes, lurking beneath the surface. She kept herself busy for a reason, kept herself out here, seeking for plants; filling the mind with thoughts of anything but the strike.

...Does that count? She'd follow softly, expression fading to a timid look, that which sought only approval. Kinship. Similarity.

She craved it, little beast of endless consumption.

Lorcan's gaze lingered on her, intrigued rather than repelled by her confession. For him, killing was neither penance nor passion, but merely a matter of course—a transaction, perhaps, as common as the shifting of one season to another. Yet, he knew from experience that the motives driving others often revealed much about them.

Does it count? he repeated, his tone an echo of contemplation, soft as a shadow slipping over stone. The act itself, perhaps not. It's the feeling that matters. What was it for you—necessity, thrill, or... something else?

He leaned closer, breath fanning her cheeks, the glint of something dark and knowing in his eye. And tell me, did it leave you wanting more?

He'd danced with death enough to know the rhythms—kill after kill, each its own flavor, its own mark on the soul. Morality didn’t enter into it, and he cared nothing for penance. But to feel it, to relish it—that was where the secret lay.

She had not put it much to mind, honest. The bitch deserved it but none cared to hear the woes of impure blood. Not when—oh, so many things. Made her teeth grind just thinking about it.

It was better now. Better now. But that too could be ruined by her corrosive touch.

..She attacked me.. but... filthy confession.

it did feel good to do it. I wanted to laugh at her. It... feels good to hurt things when so much can hurt you instead.

She couldn't lie. She revelled in the feeling of superiority. Delighted in those rare occasions when her own feeble strength was enough. Lifetime of getting the short end only made the victories taste that much sweeter. God, she could just imagine the way her needle-sharp teeth found their mark, the tear, the flavour, the look in those filthy green eyes that hosted everything deprived from her, the—

..But I want to be good. I am good. I don't want to.. hurt others. I'm a healer.

Perhaps if only to convince herself.

Lorcan’s lips curled into a quiet, almost approving smile, a glint of something wicked and knowing in his eye. Gaze unwavering as he measured her words, absorbing the contradiction laced in every line.

Ah, but there's no rule saying you can't be both, little one. A healer and a harbinger, hands that mend as easily as they ruin. His voice dipped, soft and smooth, a whisper that seemed to coil in the cool evening air. After all, isn’t that the thrill of it? Picking and choosing, deciding who lives and who suffers. He let the words hang, each syllable enunciated with a slow, deliberate ease.

Play God, little shadow. Taste the sweetness of mercy when you desire, and savor the dark thrill when you don't. He straightened, his gaze now alight with something akin to amusement, an almost dangerous fascination. We all have our secrets to keep, after all.

His words were everything she wanted to hear and more. No scorn, nor look of bated horror or thinly veiled judgement. It felt good. Warm and nice. A comfort rarely found. She liked it and it showed clearly across her face.

Stirred something deep inside. She had just wanted someone else to say it, give the 'permission', so to speak. She could be good and equally as indulgent. Others were, how unfair that she was not supposed to be. Perhaps it was nature all along. All the more cruel to keep it stifled.

And you're still keeping yours. She remarked with a sideways tilt of her head, wide-eyed and accusatory. We have a deal. Spill it. commanding and expectant. She amused herself.

Lorcan’s lips curved, his expression darkening with a hint of sinister amusement. Ah, but she wanted him to confess—did she even realize what she was inviting?

Very well, he murmured, his tone like silk, soft and slow. He glanced sideways, his gaze distant, a flicker of something dangerous creeping into his eyes. Once, there was a pup. Just old enough to be out of his mother’s shadow. Innocent little thing, full of wide-eyed trust. He chuckled, the sound low and dark, almost nostalgic. Didn’t take much to lead him astray. To watch his little heart race, confusion mixing with fear.

He tilted his head, meeting her gaze, daring her to recoil. But, he was the heir to a tyranny. Guess that makes it just, doesn't it?. His voice was a whisper now, but there was no remorse there, only a quiet thrill.

But tell me, little shadow—he leaned in, voice dropping to a murmur—does that frighten you, knowing I enjoyed it?

...I don't know if I get scared, really. She murmured the thought. Often felt like someone on the outside looking in, unable to determine if the lack of control was a facade or a mechanism to keep patches sewn together. Detached and synchronous all at once. Something like it, maybe. But...no... It doesn't.

Sad, angry, worried, but not often truly scared. Even when she should've been. She paid little mind to how close he was. She liked being close.

I... don't know. It's not my place to judge. That's what gods are for, right? Everybody does things for a reason.

Or maybe that was just projection. It made her feel better, the indifference. It wasn't like the past could be changed anyways. She was used to the death of the young, saw much of it at the reach, high caste disregard for those below. In some sickly way she almost felt like it was deserved. But she shouldn't think such thoughts.

Some part of her knew it was wrong and yet another part of her knew it was expected, in a sense. Just nature. Just the way of things.

But the spilling of blood made her feel good, too, so she couldn't truly put too much judgement onto him. She was not limited only to the exchange between her half-sister. She was coyote bane too and she revelled in that in ways far beyond just the thrill of the kill.

What's your name? She'd ask finally. It was the polite thing to do, so custom had said.

Lorcan pulled away, intrigued by the way she spoke of fear as if it were an abstract concept, something that hovered just beyond her reach. There was a sharpness to her words, a depth he found oddly compelling. Lorcan, he replied, his voice smooth, with an edge of warmth that belied the chill of his thoughts. And as for gods... well, they hardly spare a thought for us, do they? No divine intervention to save the weak from the claws of fate.

He paused, the memories of his mother flickering in his mind, the lessons she imparted woven into his very being. In the end, it's our own choices that determine our paths, not some celestial puppeteer pulling strings.

His gaze flicked to her, studying her closely. You speak as if you’ve known the weight of loss. I understand that pain. It lingers like a shadow, doesn’t it? And those of us who feel it often find solace in the darkness, in the thrill of life’s most primal instincts.

With a slight smirk, he leaned back, his curiosity piqued and surefooted. But enough about me—what name does one so captivating carry? I’d like to know what to call the little shadow who dances on the edges of the night.

She hadn't learned many of these things. None to teach, nor any willing.

Do I? You can't really lose what you didn't have in the first place. She shrugged off his mention of loss—as if despite this, she still felt that weight, heavy like a rock atop her scrawny frame, threatening to buckle the toothpick limbs beneath her. Perhaps the heaviness came from what could've-should've been. She had pieces of it, much to her disdain, pieces inescapable, physical; tattered ears perked and flicked briefly.

Indeed, it lingered, inescapable; unless she kept herself diverted. She'd always keep herself diverted. That's what she was doing here, and he had turned out to be quite interesting. She could not fight the smile that tore at each corner—and he still had a pretty face and a good figure, that much hadn't changed. She prevented the the lecherous thoughts from seeping into her stare, much as she objectified.

Envy. She offered back, tongue briefly swiping over a pale set of jaws.

Lorcan’s grin widened as he leaned casually against a nearby tree, dark eyes glinting with mischief. Envy, is it? Quite a captivating name for someone who seems to carry a weight far heavier than your frame suggests. His presence was warm against the coolness of the woods.

Where are you from? I can’t help but wonder if your story is as intriguing as you are. He studied her, noting the smile tugging at the corners of her lips, the flicker of interest in her gaze. There was something about her that piqued his curiosity, and he couldn’t resist the pull of it.