With a short snarl to himself, he had decided to take out some of his pent up rage upon a leafless branch which hang by his face as he lay, black upon white snow. He’d been dozing on and off all morning thanks to a full stomach after a successful hunt with Valtyr and now he was growing frustrated again. He was tired of having to be this false wolf, being nice to everyone was tiresome and it was getting him no where. Everyone around here was tedious work and it appeared they were all such goody-two-shoes it made him sick to his stomach. Did no one want to enjoy life a little anymore?! The problem was he was young and impatient- not the best combination. Were he older and stronger, he could allow himself to take more actions but for now he had to bide his time. Build alliances; grow up big and strong like his father and then things would be forced into place.
Gah! But waiting was so boring, especially when you spent most of your time alone. He was still a wolf after all and although he was used to solitude it didn’t mean he welcomed it. He was torn between himself, torn between what he really wanted and where he was going. Though his childhood had never been great, at least he had company and was never alone, never bored, never left in his own company for too long. Since his exile he had no one but himself for comfort and even that was beginning to bother him.
The stick had to die. It was a pointless exercise but short of scouting down more wolves who were full of useless information, what else was there for an evil genius to do around these parts? Sure, he could chase down that ridiculous female Rebecca but he felt like stealing her den had been enough for now.
<i>Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Die stick. Die.</i></blockquote>