Times were rare that the silvery, smoky ivory teenager thought of his parents or of the siblings that had exiled him, of his once home. This trip to new lands, Relic Lore could have easily been his pilgrimage, his coming of age journey and perhaps, Nanook considered with quiet disdain, that was what wolves would think. He was just another teenager in the mainframe, branching off of his parents either from tradition or because of an insatiable rebelliousness. Foolish, young, and arrogant. Full of golden spun dreams of conquest. He had not left his home because he had consciously wanted to. Why would he have wanted to? From the days when he began to show signs of being the dominate pup in his litter, lording it often and uncaring over his siblings the firstborn DiSarinno son had been groomed for the helm of leadership under his parents. Why would he choose to leave a life that had been well suited for him? It was his destiny and his right, and when his parents had began to discover his true nature, the Darkling was, evaluated and thusly cast out. As if he were last year’s model whom could be so easily thrown away, used, still pretty but thusly unwanted. Whatever they said about him, their love, so easily dismissed, had hurt him, forming the crack and fissures that riddled his heart, making him wonder, some days, how it did not cease to beat so damaged as it was. Love, Nanook scoffed at. There was no such thing. It was the basis of desires, a need to spread the seed and nothing more. And the so-called “love” of a parent, Nanook had deduced, was nothing more than mild affection, a desire to ensure that offspring stay alive so that the lines may continue to spread.
Eyes of liquid gold burned and leapt with the flames that consumed his heart as he dipped his toes, lazily in the cool lake he lounged beside, salmon pink tongue flicking out to draw across his lips where the blood of his recent meal stained the once flawless silver-tipped ivory fur that covered his body. A stunning cross between his father and mother’s own coats. The blood was drying, hardening his fur into macabre, blood stained spikes down his chin and onto his chest where it had stained. It still, even drying, held the familiar tangy, coppery taste that he had grown accustomed to, and that he considered was not all that unpleasant. Muzzle lowered to glimpse at his reflection in the faintly rippling water, the warm and beautiful spring day a coveted enjoyment. Staring at the fiery eyes that resembled neither parent, and all the angles and sharp lines that made him androgynous for he was more willowy than he was broad, and too pretty for a male as he’d heard many say in his short span of a life. The face of an angel, Toes skimmed across the water, distorting his reflection more. With dark and selfish intentions. He was temptation, wickedness, sin and vanity incarnate. Or so, he liked to flatter himself by thinking anyway. While he might not be built like a tank, he was fast, but more so than that, he was silver-tongued and highly intelligent, and Nanook always liked to think that made him more dangerous than brawn. The scales would always even out, in some way or another, for that seemed to be one of nature’s laws.
Ears swiveled out atop his skull, listening past the gently lapping water, listening for sounds of anything foreign outside of his setting, and let his eyes close to soak up the warmth of the sun as it’s rays stroked through his fur like a lover’s fingers. Tantalizing, teasing yet undeniably still pleasant.
FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE
PART OF THE SHOW...IT'S A RIOT, IT'S A RIOT...