The Devil Went Down To Georgia

The icy lands of the north may make wolves think twice before trying to traverse them but, for Morbid, they feel like home. No clouds dare to obscure the night sky as the dark man silently weaves his way through the land made up of thin, scraggily pine trees. His bright eyes appear to be two small moons in the darkness, their silver-white bright against his dark hide. He is a man on a mission and he casually trots along with little care that he is late.

Lurid had won her pack and called her siblings together and, while he had been eager to set out, there were some… things that came up on the way. Oh well, it does not matter anymore, as those very things now lay flayed and broken behind him. Their life blood has long since drained and their bodies will now feed the earth. He is a simple man, of simple tastes and their screams of pain had delighted him to no end.

The torture has put Morbid in a decent mood and when he approaches the invisible border, he pulls to a stop before he can set a paw over the line. Head lowers and pulls the familiar scent deep into his lungs, savoring the fact that Lurid finally has her pack. A devilish grin splits his maw and he tips his head back, calmly summons his sister to join him where he waits. The brute than seats himself in the snow, paying no mind to the cold that tries to leech into his body. He knows he will be warm soon enough.