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He had been on a spree.

It wouldn't be hard to find him, just follow the trail of animals entrails. His guardian had tried his best to keep the beast contained, but the raw, unwanted rage that bubbled and foamed from his mouth was too much for the one guard to keep away form the others.  The guard thought it best to let the beast out, away form others, and feed it's bloodlust.  It was known that this thing was the child of Queen Serrate and Hawthorne, but the temperament that it had, was not of this world.   The guard let him loose where no one was known to roam, on the white sand beach, which had now been tainted with the deep red color that Draconyx had stolen from the innocent creatures he'd found along the way.  

The guard had left him to do his bidding, to wear himself out before he had to be dragged back to confinement.  Which meant, Draconyx had no supervisor, he had nothing, or no one to hold him back.  He was a monster loose on the outskirts of Gemini, a raging mess of fury and teeth, looking to their next throat to bite, and tear.  Inside, the small boy was curled around himself, whining, wanting the loving touch of a sibling, or the embrace of his mother.  Neither of which he had been able to receive since birth.

Instead, he had almost killed his sibling with a less than loving embrace of teeth and rage.  

Instead he wanted to rip, and shred, and destroy everyone that only wanted to love him.  

He did not know the definition of affection, or an embrace, or of love.  The words and ideas were foreign to him, and they most likely would always be foreign to him. He would never know love, he would never know what kind of healing a hug could give.  What weight an apology and forgiveness could lift from his muscled shoulders.  He would never know these things.  

And so these were replaced with blood.  And rage.  And Anger. And so much hate.  

So he continued to tear, and rip, and leave the trial of carnage behind.

Alone.  



... And filled with fear.

The night was dark; it was a time for monsters.

But morning would always find itself fast approaching like a knight on a white steed to scare away all that was frightening and full of terror. It would come every day, just the same; a bright sun stretching out over the land and waking up all that lived within the safety of their homes. Of course, that was always pleasant and wonderful, unless you were considered the monster.

It was a hard life for the hellbear as he thundered through the forest, watching sadly as the small woodland creatures took off for safety as he approached them. A weight dropped in to his chest and stomach as the large creature lumbered his way along, the feelings of uncertainty and depression hitting him hard. There was something about Balder that made him stand out from the rest of his clan; a simple defect that left his family reeling. You see, when Balder was born, he was not born looking ursine. No, in fact young child appeared to have more canine features about him than he did bear. His skull had been slightly deformed from those of his siblings, and even as he grew the clan would whisper words about what omen his birth may have brought upon them. It was a sad childhood, to say the least. And so without warning they kicked him out- left him to fend for himself in the wilds of a place that he did not know. Life beyond the fringe and the hellion lairs was a world that Balder was not prepared for. It was darker than normal, and it was scarier than what he had grown up knowing. That wasn't to say that he was angry for his families disapproving nature; no it humbled him to know that even though he was not wanted within his family, they allowed him to live rather than kill him for being what he was: an abomination.

So he walked. And walked. Balder found himself embracing his life and freedoms, enjoying it all as much as he could while the sun was up. He would stop here and there, sniffing flowers and picking them before wandering on to a different patch and continuing. He'd tangle some in his thick fur around his neck and wear them as an accessory when he felt like good days were coming for him. When he didn't feel good, he'd remove them and press them in to the mud in the hopes that perhaps he could preserve some of the dying beauty that clung to the flora of wherever he happened to be.

Today though, the large male found himself sitting in the early morning sunlight, basking in its warmth as he looked around the flower covered field that he'd happened to have stumbled upon. He gave a soft huff as he looked down to all the flowers and gave the smallest of smiles before falling face first in to them and rolling around. The night had not been so scary this time, and though Balder couldn't quite put a finger on it- he was certain today was going to be a great day, even if it meant rolling in a field of flowers.

s v e y n

He was surprised to have woken up, he swore he was dead.

After falling during the attack, Sveyn figured he must have been out for a day at least. His head throbbed and the entire length of his body ached; his stomach hollow with hunger. He managed with the little energy he still had, remembering the soreness in his back leg gifted from one of his attackers, Sveyn was careful not to put any pressure onto this one. She must have broken it. There were very few times that he had foul thoughts of others, but this was one time he'd forgotten his manners. He blinked several times to adjust to the dim lighting within the caves he assumed he was dragged to, blood and dust still hugging tight against his white fur. Stains he was desperate to remove. It was too soon a reminder of his failure to save himself.

At least he managed to save Reath.

"Wide awake, beasty?"

Sveyn's eyes darted towards the opening of the cave, where large bones or antlers of some sort divided him from the source of the voice. He didn't respond, but instead limped towards the opening to get a better idea of his whereabouts. How had they gotten him in here? How would he get out?

"Hungry? Boss asked me to feed ya."

The guard threw him a small slab of meat. His instincts told him to devour it, but his pride slapped the meat back through the opening. A beady glare shot towards the guard. "I don't want that, I want your boss." Between clenched teeth he spat, as close to the guard as the barrier would allow.

The Alteronian clicked their tongue, pacing back and forth menacingly in front of Sveyn. "Patience, Beasty. Boss'll be here soon and you've got nothing but time."

o o c
@Corvo

#8D38C9 * profile

   As much as she enjoyed autumn, she did not enjoy winter. It was far too cold for the little wolf, the fields she often wandered barren of the rabbits she usually hunted. The autumn colors had departed, submitting to rot and decay, much to her displeasure. Winter was too quiet and too lonely, without the business of summer or the gentleness of autumn. It was too cruel and too lifeless, stripping the lands of what they had to offer and leaving a barren skeleton in its embrace.

   Admittedly, there was something intriguing the emptiness. There was something to be said about the lack of life and sound and movement. While there was beauty in presence, there was beauty in absence as well. At times, the wolf paused in all her movements to stand as still as the world around her, to take a pause and simply exist without having to deal with all the troubles that came with it. And then she would resume her movements again, causing the world to stir once again

   So, while Ifyla found winter to be a source of displeasure, she would happily admit that not all of it was bad. But the small pieces of good could not excuse the hunger pains and biting cold. While there were things she liked about winter, she didn't like it as a whole. The beauty was not worth all the suffering.

   When she had emerged from a poorly made den to a world blanketed in white, however, she had been stunned. She had only recently witnessed the true beauty of autumn and now, staring at white flakes falling from a cloudy sky, she was viewing yet another marvel. Snowflakes caught in the thick ruff of fur around her neck, decorating her coat and facial features as some fell on her nose and began to melt. Not once in her life had she seen snow, never having beheld the gentle tumble of fat, white flakes as they covered the world around her in peaceful tranquility.

   However, her immediate thought subsequent to those expressing her awe was, This is going to be hell.

   The snow was halfway up her leg and it was far too cold for her. She was used to moderate heat, not near-extreme cold. Only the fur around her neck was thick, not nearly thick enough to ward off all the cold. But that didn't matter when she thought of her stomach, empty for how many days now? Four, if she recalled correctly. Whining to herself, the small wolf started off into the snow drifts in a search for food.

   While it was not hard to catch the scent of a hare when it stood out strongly against the scent of snow (which was basically nonexistent), it was hard to track it. The snow was not falling too heavily, but just enough to hide the tracks of the hare from Ifyla's sight. She would have to rely on smell alone and, unfortunately, her nose was beginning to pinken and freeze. The snow hindered her progress and made her much louder than usual because she just needed something else to make her life harder. Really, she was just begging for it at this point.

   Eventually, however, she spotted too black-tipped ears sticking out from what she thought was a lump of snow. She learned otherwise, however, when her golden eyes met beady black ones, the snow hare startling before scrambling to get away. "No!" she cried, leaping into action as she tried to bound through the snow to catch up to the rabbit, struggling through the snow and cursing all manner of deities as she lost the hare. She stumbled and fell face-first into the drifts, her yelling muffled before she pushed herself up, snow covering her reddish features as she crowed profanity at the sky, her insults falling upon the deaf ears of false gods and the poor ears of nearby listeners.

This. Was. Awful. A long, dramatic huff followed by a whimper as a small girl flopped her front half onto the ground. Shoulder down, butt up, and dragged herself in any direction. Grumbling along the way.

She'd spot a tree, BINGO, and jump up to dash to it's trunk. Leaning her back against it, she'd begin to shimmy her shoulder blades and neck against it. Eyes squeezed shut in the moment of relief... but it was short lived as she flopped forward onto her belly. Utterly defeated and in terrible discomfort.

Caprice was young, barely five months old at this point and no one had been there for her to help guide her through what it meant to grow feathers. What it meant to be a Fledgling, an Aviari dire, or apart of any society. There was no idea to what family she belonged to, or what happened to her parents aside from assumption they were lost to war.

"Help." The small child sat by herself, pin feathers covering her body, and big tears in her eyes. Looking a wreck.