[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width: 55%; font-family: georgia; font-size: 11pt; letter-spacing: -1px; color: black"]He'd been watching from a distance, the ripple of muscles underneath a dark pelt. Horns growing up from a cranium and malevolently colored eyes. It was Quill. It was always Quill. A sigh left the throat of the dark creature as he moved forward, smoke surrounding his form that leaked from his own body. Was he a real being or not? The question never arose because he didn't know what he was. He had false memories and he didn't even know that but his path had long since collided with the Pitt a long time ago. He'd been forced into slavery when he was but a young pup, just barely able to stand and walk on his own. Mind bend and his will shattered. It was always a dangerous thing to give a slave their freedom because that was when plots and plans ensued. But right now he was only trying to survive and live, make himself useful and if capturing and killing was the way then he saw no reason to not benefit from it as they had been. A slave never questioned but now that he wasn't he just wanted to survive. His thick paws moved him from his spot and he stepped forward with ease across the hot sands of the desert. He was coming up from behind Quill and he was sure he would hear him because of the shifting sand.
His paws slipped into the water and he allowed a gently breath to leave him before he attempted to nudge Quill's flank. "This is my watering hole, you know. Seems we might have a problem." But there was amusement in his voice, even as pink marble eyes flicked down to eye the scar on the other's chest. Still, he was sorry about that and he hadn't thought it would be...so literal and there in his face. It was a jar he would cherish for some time to come but for now he focused back to the direhound's face.