self explosive

Basilisk Saxe could not sleep. Faces of creatures once familiar to him haunted him -- the sound of his father's snarl echoed through his head not just tonight, but always, as though punishing him for his death. So badly, especially in the darkness of the frigid winter nights, did he crave the warmth of his mother and his siblings; how he wanted to see the few friends he had made in his travels many months ago. Cross, the boy who had sparred with him in the battlefield. Aegira, Jupiter's daughter who had so brazen ventured into the unknown; and Odette, who had seemed enthralled by him, and who had earned a fondness from the boy that was hard to elicit from him ever. He was still no more than a boy, a lost soul condemned to nothing but pain and anguish. And yet the sweet girl's face remained vivid in his mind, calling him to her, making him crave her presence once again. Was she dead or alive?

His thoughts would rouse him from the quiet rest, and he stirred near Cataleya and her children. His loyalty was unquestionable, and it seemed there was a sense of mutual belonging between them -- but he wanted more. Something else. The loneliness in his chest was growing far too painful for him to bear, though he knew it would never fade, but perhaps it could be soothed even if only minimally. Quietly he pushed himself upright with his forelegs, rising to all fours. He was fully grown now, standing at a rather intimidating height of fourty-once inches; clearly he was the son of Newt Saxe. His pelt, dark as the night, with but a flash of dark grey near his muzzle and chest, with eyes of a vivid purple. He would slip from the depths of the makeshift den he shared with Cataleya, into the cold night air, his paws carrying him west. He would avoid the southern lands, knowing the pack that held territory there.

He did not know how many hours he traveled, nor did he know what he was looking for at all - until a familiar scent reached his nostrils. It was not his kin, nor was it his friend from the northern lands, but a girl. His name was lost on her for a moment, but the brute would cease his rapid pace and stop to consider. Odette. The Queen of the sand castle. A sneer broke through on his normally cold features, his smirk instantaneous and fading just as quickly as it had appeared. His moment of reflection would subside as he continued forth once again, his stance powerful and fearless, a complete opposite of the torment that raged within the yearling's chest.

The stench grew stronger, but was intertwined with dozens of other scents. A pack lived nearby. And so boldly he would begin to intrude on their territory, the trees giving way to a desolate plain, upon which he rode like a warrior into battle, his destination unknown.