Bonesplinter Ravine who thought she was a nightingale

her musing might not have been meant to be bitter, but this is how the desertwitch takes it. bitter. like death as touched her and she mourns for it. when he had thought the tidal wave that blocked him off from his family had killed them he had mourned. and he had surrendered to the darkness within him as he dined upon the flesh of strangers. his will to live was stronger than morality which has become so grey; to the point where scarab envies those who can see life in simple terms of black and white. right and wrong. good and evil.

yes. he blinks slowly at her, as if he does not understand how they could not benefit from death. there is nothing to fear in death. life is cruel. it demands. it is chaotic. it is hard. death is easy. quiet. peaceful.

scarab looks to the skeleton; the remnants of a life long snuffed out. to him, she appears to mourn the life that lived and lost. scarab does not. a soul who no longer needed its broken body anymore. if it does not serve why keep it? why linger in suffering and pain? though he had once suffered with eating fellow wolves during his darkest hours ...looking at the body as a vessel and nothing else erased the torture he felt. the stranger(s) were dead, they would not miss their mortal flesh.