slight gore warning between the ** just in case! . thought he didn't kill a crewmate, it was an intruder!

wrathful god, russet tinged feathers are unperturbed by the wind, tucked against his form like a fragile shawl, but it is not enough- it will never be enough. he may be wrathful, but the venadi are greedy. gods in animal skin never meant to walk this earth with creatures who think them savage- it makes him angry, to the point there is no end to his anger. but this anger is not something he can lash out with, it simmers in the deep trenches of his mind, it settles in the marrow of his bones and strengthens him.

he is a mind: trapped in a body, a soul: trapped in a vessel. his entity screams with this rage; his body complies. sometimes there is no time for the mind, for the instinct burred inside of him. only rage, a soul deep hate for anything and everything. it tells him to d e s t r o y: and he complies. the joy it brings him knows no bounds, the thrill to wreak havoc is a gift from the gads, a gift to himself.

his pack does not understand this, they are fueled by other things and it shows. he is unsure if they know what a blight it is- what a blessing it is to carry this weight. this fire in his throat that burns and burns and burns. ament wonders what it is like, to be blinded by pride, to lured by greed, to be spurned on by envy. rage empowers as much as it weakens, and it makes his discoveries shatter like fragile shells underfoot. it curbs his mind like owen's raptors to heel.

in the jungle he is just the bark in fluid motion, his face a shadow. he is a god of forest given life- given hunger. he has tools of destruction: his teeth and his claws, muscles sewn around bone- feathers a barrier to keep it all in. the hunger, the malice. he moves without thought, without care. maw opened to scent the world around him- typhooners and prey blending in scent until there is little to differentiate between.

there has always been fragility in it, this clan- the forbidden fruit that mother does not allow- and the prey. they work in tandem in perfect balance but to an onlooker- to a god full of wraith and anger the difference is hard to tell. the difference is sometimes confusing- it throws everything into question.

so he watches.

it is part curiosity, and in the quiet when ament can let his thoughts drift without rage simmering under his skin- he ponders. he let's his curiosity rule him and makes observations and is thrilled by what he finds. they talk to each other the same way he talks to his sisters, it is a language barrier- though he admits he can't imagine any of his sister's wanting to learn. they all have a sort of distaste for the group.

he could never be angry at them- never thought of directing this rage any other way than inwards, but his sister's make him sad. ruled by their vices rather than their own pursuits- their own wants- or did they? was their wants blended so thoroughly inside their own temptations that they couldn't princely tell what was their own?

his own feathers ruffle, and suddenly he is slightly larger than before, puffing up to relieve the tension. muscles relaxing under soft preened dowry as he stills, he let's the world around him ground him. he has stepped into a clearing, a clearing, that is not empty. there is a kind of chatter he does not recognize, not the common tongue or the ancient dialect that he and his sister's talk. he steps through the clearing unflinchingly, starring down the seeming creature with puzzlement.

and the creatures attention turns on him, and not in a nice way. fear stinks the are and he can hear the prey whimper. it's body flattens to the ground and it tries to writhe away. rage comes easy. this creature- this insect is nothing but prey- weak-minded. it is easier to concentrate on a kill than his own thoughts, like fragile water trying to grasp with both hands. rage settles into his skin, it is a distraction. tempts him in ways other things cannot, but for once- curiosity lingers in the forethought of his rage. 

the other does not deserve to be food, but he will kill it- kill it for a different reason.

he ends it easily, so low to the ground, he keeps it in place with a foot, sickle claw piercing it, and bends down to flawlessly deliver a killing blow, a sharp jerk as he bites down at the back of the neck. he does not watch the light fade from it's eyes, and while he would first bring it to virgo to have the first bite, this is not for eating.

*
he swipes his foot down, sickle claw becoming a scalpel, but messier- to his delight. blood is cooling into the open air and drying on his feet, but he noses his way inside, the rib cage crunched when he stepped on it. he picks te bones away, pulls. he plays, his rage cooling and his curiosity only growing. thoughts away from darker things.
*

he is covered in blood, his body slick as if it has rained down on the sky. he let's out a pleased chiirup as he walks away from the clearing. the remains of his kill smeared around the once tranquil place. He should probably rub some of the blood off with water and preen the rest, hopefully, his sister's wont mind.