The world could be ours.

Run like you're born to fly, live like you'll never die.

Wandering had brought the male to this gulley once more, after his encounter with a crow named B. He wasn't here for him, however. More so, he was simply journeying deeper into the slashed earth, seeking new wolves to perhaps ally himself with. Little did he know he could possibly meet a dangerous foe, or a fiery tempest.

His obsidian bulk would lead the brujo toward some large boulders amongst the intertwining canopy above. Patches of light mottled his pelt, and brightened the white strips on his bodice in various places. His sauntering pawsteps soon receded as he would stop, lifting his crown high, the forest seeming to come to life as a strong gust blew through the slash of earth. The god's form them instantly would crouch low, a rabbit's scent having been blown to his nostrils. His stomach snarled angrily like a lion, clawing at his ribcage, which seemed to shrink in return. His frame soon uncoiled itself as he hurled all of his weight forward, the god landing upon a fat hare, which thrashed about and kicked wildly. He disabled it with a swift bite to the neck, and began to tear into the flesh hungrily, not caring if any wolf around saw him feasting.