03-04-2020, 11:00 PM
[glow=white,1,400]I'LL KILL MY ENEMIES WHEN THEY COME — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]
Hungry. Hurt. hurt and hungry. he was starving. he was in pain. He didn't know how he wasn't dead yet. He had been beaten down in some other territory and he knew that he was going to be killed. He had gained consciousness from the feral shit holding him prisoner in his own mind and he was instantly going to get killed for biting the leg of some random deer thing. So he'd somehow managed to leave? He wasn't entirely sure himself.
He was coated in blood and wounds, one of his legs was pretty much shredded and his tail(?) was gone. He could barely walk and it wasn't just because he wasn't used to being a big-ass wolf. He had been a wolf before, but not entirely this way. He had been with his brothers and instincts had kicked in enough for them to hunt and get back to their normal bodies. He knew that he shouldn't have attacked the one that he did, their bond was too much like his brothers for him not to feel regret about it, but he wasn't sure if he'd attacked others. He probably did, considering the blood that was all over him, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up covered in blood, nor the second, third, or fourth time.
He needed to eat to keep on going but was any prey animal stupid enough to get near him when he smelled like this? no. If it wasn't for the weirdly sentient animals around him, he'd have been long dead. They were odd. For all purposes, they should have been just as capable as the lesser beings around them, but none seemed to think with their instincts. Better for him, but weird. It wasn't much of an issue if he was feral when he hunted anyways.
Thus, he was feral and hunting. He may not have had as much control, but the sheer power and bloodlust was remarkable. He ran, not well, and tore. He wove through trees, crouched, crawled, tracked. [glow=white,1,400]blood[/glow]
He hunted. He tackled. He bit.
He was coated in blood and wounds, one of his legs was pretty much shredded and his tail(?) was gone. He could barely walk and it wasn't just because he wasn't used to being a big-ass wolf. He had been a wolf before, but not entirely this way. He had been with his brothers and instincts had kicked in enough for them to hunt and get back to their normal bodies. He knew that he shouldn't have attacked the one that he did, their bond was too much like his brothers for him not to feel regret about it, but he wasn't sure if he'd attacked others. He probably did, considering the blood that was all over him, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up covered in blood, nor the second, third, or fourth time.
He needed to eat to keep on going but was any prey animal stupid enough to get near him when he smelled like this? no. If it wasn't for the weirdly sentient animals around him, he'd have been long dead. They were odd. For all purposes, they should have been just as capable as the lesser beings around them, but none seemed to think with their instincts. Better for him, but weird. It wasn't much of an issue if he was feral when he hunted anyways.
Thus, he was feral and hunting. He may not have had as much control, but the sheer power and bloodlust was remarkable. He ran, not well, and tore. He wove through trees, crouched, crawled, tracked. [glow=white,1,400]blood[/glow]
He hunted. He tackled. He bit.