Paws thumped heavily against the frosted ground, head lowered, teeth bared. The flames around his paws burned idly like small licks of fire over coals, burning the frozen water his paws fell upon. The temper of his was raging, the winter of the season was sour. Naturally he hated the cold, and with the sheet of darkness that had settled over the forest the air seemed that much more frigid—that much more desolate.
Isolation was hardly something the large Davea minded, for being in a tribe it was peculiar how much he spent his time away hunting. Of course it was his duty to hunt prey, or even little sad stray foxes who wandered too far into his territory, albeit, it was the tribe’s territory. But these little bugs should have known better. The forest was his lethal game.
It had been for many moons.
There was only a few stray times that he let a fox pass. His... Kits. For example. He wanted nothing to do with them, no confrontation, no meeting. He had caught sight of one them... Levi. Was it? It was a quick glance, and for all he knew the other Daeva could be dead now. The other little rat spawns could be dead. Their mother could be dead. Did he care? The latter of it all—he wouldn’t care one bit. Cursed offspring like this didn’t need to exist, that vixen was more of a monster than he was.
It had been quite amusing to see that ‘Daeva. All grown up, he took after him. Strong wings, hopefully a flaming temper. However, he was quick to pass. The last time he had came face to face with one of his kits was when they were still enclosed in those little balls. But what did it matter? They were all even hated by that vixen’s mate, that fragile little snow dweller. Dorchet wondered if Akuma even adored them. The thought of it made a smirk fix itself on his maw as he crouched and looked through the frosted brush.
Something in the holly made the leaves rustle, his red eyes focused on the little timid creature that must have been inside. Claws scraped at the earthy soil as that smirk widened. He wondered what it was—besides dinner—but the little creature’s heart must have beat too fast, made it too frantic and it bolted from the brush. Dorchet let out a snarl as he lunged after it; clawed wings spread catching air with a small whistle. However, the ‘Daeva stopped short as he jerked himself to a stop and tore a dark look over his shoulder, the mild smirk turned to a cruel sneer.
This scent...
Isolation was hardly something the large Davea minded, for being in a tribe it was peculiar how much he spent his time away hunting. Of course it was his duty to hunt prey, or even little sad stray foxes who wandered too far into his territory, albeit, it was the tribe’s territory. But these little bugs should have known better. The forest was his lethal game.
It had been for many moons.
There was only a few stray times that he let a fox pass. His... Kits. For example. He wanted nothing to do with them, no confrontation, no meeting. He had caught sight of one them... Levi. Was it? It was a quick glance, and for all he knew the other Daeva could be dead now. The other little rat spawns could be dead. Their mother could be dead. Did he care? The latter of it all—he wouldn’t care one bit. Cursed offspring like this didn’t need to exist, that vixen was more of a monster than he was.
It had been quite amusing to see that ‘Daeva. All grown up, he took after him. Strong wings, hopefully a flaming temper. However, he was quick to pass. The last time he had came face to face with one of his kits was when they were still enclosed in those little balls. But what did it matter? They were all even hated by that vixen’s mate, that fragile little snow dweller. Dorchet wondered if Akuma even adored them. The thought of it made a smirk fix itself on his maw as he crouched and looked through the frosted brush.
Something in the holly made the leaves rustle, his red eyes focused on the little timid creature that must have been inside. Claws scraped at the earthy soil as that smirk widened. He wondered what it was—besides dinner—but the little creature’s heart must have beat too fast, made it too frantic and it bolted from the brush. Dorchet let out a snarl as he lunged after it; clawed wings spread catching air with a small whistle. However, the ‘Daeva stopped short as he jerked himself to a stop and tore a dark look over his shoulder, the mild smirk turned to a cruel sneer.
This scent...
