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There were those who took sick, twisted joy in the hunt. Azazel was not, nor would he ever be, that sort of stallion; when he fed on flesh, it was only out of necessity. Perhaps it was a nod to the parents who had raised him, a grudging respect for the life around him, or perhaps it was simply his own preference. He'd never cared to examine his own motivation overmuch, preferring to bury it and simply stalk, kill, and devour his prey with near militaristic efficiency. Eating meat was a necessity, and not one he enjoyed, but he couldn't deny that it sated a particular hunger of his that would never be satisfied any other way.

He ran his tongue along his lower jaw, gathering the blood that stained his muzzle and doing his best to clean his face. Simply because he was omnivorous didn't mean that he had to walk around with garish, bloodstained features; while that might have been intimidating, he saw no reason to provide a macabre display to the rest of the world. For the most part, he avoided others, so it was really simply his own preference. Blood dried onto one's coat tended to become such a pain in the a**, after all.

The wind shifted, bearing the scent of his meal away from him, but another soon took its place; female. Cocking an ear toward the source of it, Azazel frowned, his wings unfurling at his sides as his head swung in the direction of the new smell. After a moment, snapping twigs reached him -- whoever was in the vicinity wasn't being subtle.

Or perhaps he was simply too used to watching his own back.

He had a choice before him, as always; he could simply take flight and continue to enjoy his own company, or he could pursue whomever had stumbled upon him. He was on the verge of kicking off the ground when the scent became stronger, more potent -- anxiety.

Hm.

He changed course, moving stealthily through the trees until he caught sight of the other. She was a big girl; natural coloring, for the most part, though he caught sight of green on the tips of her wings as she passed through the trees. He considered leaving her to her own devices, but perhaps she was anxious because she was being pursued. It bore looking into.

Stepping into a spill of sunlight, he angled his head at her, well aware of the imposing figure he made. "You. What are you doing?"

He hiked a brow, debating whether or not the mare was worth his time, when she turned and addressed him. Her lip didn't impress him, but then, he rarely expected much more from a mare; the ones he'd met, with the exception of his family, were all bawdy, opinionated creatures with very little between their ears to recommend them.

No wonder he preferred to travel alone.

Lip curling back a bit, exposing an unfriendly sneer full of sharp teeth, he said measuringly, "I'm not here to flatter you, mare. I asked you a question."

His tail ficked behind him, spade tip weaving from side to side, as he considered her. It was amusing to him, on some level, that mares tended to be so self-centered as to be completely ridiculous; there was no way he could have known her name, nor did he care to know it. Until she impressed him, he'd be content to refer to her as "mare," whether she offered her name or not.

And he was hardly to give her his.

He was in something close to a decent mood, his hunger having been sated moments before, so he didn't immediately take his leave. His hearing was excellent, but that didn't mean he heard everything she said; the word "brute" got through to him plenty clearly, however. He narrowed his eyes, bright green slits in an otherwise muted face, and stalked a bit closer to her. Blood stained not only his face but his hooves, the tips of them dragging through the grasses and leaving evidence of his hunt behind.

"You're insolent for an herbivore," he said, eyes flicking over her form. What he'd learned of other races, anyhow, indicated that she was not carnivorous like himself; she had no natural weapons in her physique like his teeth, cloven hooves, and twisted horns, though she bore one of the last. It was a suitable enough mode of defense, he supposed, but by itself, it wouldn't do her much good. "And rude. Were I you, I wouldn't cast stones at someone with blood on his face."

He flexed his wings at his sides, pausing at a curious angle; she was covering part of herself with her tail. "Why are you covering yourself, mare? I've already fed; if it's a wound you have, I'm not interested. Were I going to eat you, you would have never heard me approach."

He was hardly the type to play with his food.