THESE FICKLE FATES

Alabaster fur framed his large form as he moved silently through the land, discontentment bubbling in his stomach, the taste acidic, and it gnawed at him. Two toned eyes raked the land before him, nearly tearing the land with their hidden aggression, one amber the other a cerulean color, they stood out to say the least, blandness wasn't an adjective associated with Creedance Voltaire. The still summer air, left another smell hanging thickly in the air, and he would follow it, nearly out of his legs own volition as if they craved to be with another, craved the sociability of another's life-force.

Jaws of a muderer would part, as he neared the source of the smell, his voice coming out in a short, barking order. The command evident in the every bit of his verbose.

"Show yourself."