drippin' blue blood from my wrist

The fiend stretched forward a bit more to extend the pleasing sensation of bark against his thick, wild fur, and then halted and leaned his considerable weight against the tree. He sighed disinterestedly, casting his callous stare about the scene like the flicking of a cigarette butt upon the ground. There was nothing there for him. His simple judging stare was an insult to the place. It wandered curtly about a few moments more – not appreciating or fully taking in, but rather hurriedly trying to find something else to look at in the damnable monotony. It came as a surprise when he suddenly did find something else.

A canine figure, not unlike his own in its paleness, stood as a stark exclamation mark on the golden scenery very nearby. Svetovid stared icily, momentarily assessing. It was a smaller, young she-wolf, with gray and white fur and pretty blue eyes. Upon noticing him, she backed away, a soft sound quivering from her maw as her fur bristled. A physical paradox, it only served to make her seem smaller though; she radiated fear. It made Svetovid mad, although that was hardly a feat. His brow furrowed a tad, crinkling his hard-edged face. His lips twisted in a faint scowl and he straightened himself to better stare sourly in her direction.  Why was she afraid? Was he… scary? It was a flawed train of offended thought – for in the same fashion, he would probably have also been offended had she not been scared. ”What’s the matter, love? Have I got something on my face? Or is there a monster behind me?” his gravelly voice questioned, grating chords playing out an explanation of insult.