I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
Bruise does not waste time after the meeting to take his leave of the kingdom.
He is not particularly motivated (he does not hunger for the results of his sweat and blood but for the results of the art he crafts), but he is loyal to his Krampus-father. And, more than that, he is agonizingly curious for what lies upon the coast just north of where he lives. He has, of course, heard stories about the women (and men, although he supposes one can hardly call the lapdogs such). He has heard about how they once lived within the belly of the Jungle, how they are Amazons, warriors—fierce, fearsome things.
His belly twists in excitement as he makes his way toward their border, an unnatural speed making the journey an altogether short one. As he reaches where he supposes their land begins (the gray of Pangea having long removed from his coat, the ground turning hard and even lush), he comes to a walk and then a stop. Although he keeps his finger on the pulse of the Fear, although he can practically feel it dance around them in anticipation, he does not yet call upon it. Instead, he leaves it out, pacing at the door.
Carefully, he washes his features clean, the handsome angles of his sooty face turning pleasant, his heavy horned head twisting to the side—the picture of innocent curiosity. For those who did not know him, he looks simply like a stallion come to call upon the Amazons: polite, respectful.
It is only in the pit of his belly that one would find the hunger—
Find the gnashing of teeth and the ache.
This he keeps under lock and key, smiling calmly as he waits for whoever is to find him here.
