have you met the devil's new right hand | islas

[Firen]

Most days, the young wolf traveled unseen through the forest. Beqanna was alive with activity, and all the pretty horses seemed to pass through the Riverlands with an unsettling frequency. But even with the uptick in activity, Firen was able to maintain his perfect isolation. Their thoughts were so loud that he rarely, if ever, found himself surprised by the approach of a stranger. Their ideas, plans, and fantasies were deafening, emotional reels that he could no longer understand. They cluttered his mind in ways that made his hackles rise and chased him deeper into the woods with each passing day. 

Until he found a place they never came. An unappealing, damp corner of the forest that was nowhere near the common route.

But he feels her mind, and he grows curious - feeling he had not felt for another of his kind in weeks. Her thoughts move in different patterns than the endless streams of strangers. There is plenty of time for him to slip away, but he remains like a stone on the forest floor. Except stones don't lick their paws clean of blood or rise from the earth to better see who approaches.

Within a moment she is there, in his little piece of the Riverlands, as pale and beautiful as his collection of ivory bones.

He looks at her with wide, red eyes set like rubies against the black of his fur. But they do not burn hot like the eyes of his sire, despite the brilliance of their color. They are dull and detached. His tail lays neatly over his paws, and above his back, two small flames twist silently in the woodland gloom.

@[Islas]