THERON
THERE'S A COLD BREEZE BLOWING
OVER MY SOUL

The hulking dire mix trudged down toward the river’s edge. Thirst drove the recluse out of his seclusion. Theron and his “fellow” Inarians were both content when he remained at the fringes of things. The young wolf’s presence was considered by many to be unnerving and on occasion outright threatening. After all, Dragon had left her mark on this pack. Theron was like an ugly scar, a reminder of the damage dealt. Independent of that, the boy's behavior ranged from innocuous to violent. He was volatile. Even when he was well-behaved, Theron was an awkward and awful conversationalist.

As he reached the river he stepped in, front paws dipping into the shallows. Seemingly unbothered by the chill. He caught the gaze of his own reflection for a moment -- eerie unblinking white eyes, a heavy winter coat of thick mahogany brown fur framed his head in a way that made him look even larger than he already was. His face that was worn and haggard looking despite the fact he was really quite young in the grand scheme of things.

He bent his head to lap at the water, watching pensively as the ripple warped his reflection. His forays into Inaria proper were growing increasingly frequent. Perhaps Theron had simply tired of living his life as a hermit. Perhaps he was lonely.

Perhaps he was just bored.

A quiet rustle caught the large mixbreed dire’s attention and his head snapped up with a low warning growl. A distinct wordless warning not to fuck with him. It was the paranoid habit of a creature who had lived a violent life. Despite Inaria’s relative peace, Theron retained those aggressive impulses even still. It was hard to reprimand anyone who had relied on such for survival, particular when they had no desire to change. His white eyes would flick over the surrounding landscape, ears pricked, as he searched for the source of the sound.