Against both Rook and Veho, Skoll could not win. Here and there, across his sides and his rump, and along his spine the two Hollow wolves made sure he was absolutely not welcome within their realm. One of them, though he was not even sure who, even had the gall to give a rough tug to his night-black tail. Any harder and it could have been rendered useless (Skoll was undeniably certain). He was quick to get his itching limbs beneath him and into a hasty sprint. The sooner he distanced himself from these two cedar-infused brutes, the better.
Though, as soon as he had tripped, Skoll did his best to right himself, his quicksilver eyes glued to the sight of his cousin and his guard as he aimlessly dashed back into the forests. If he kept up his pace, perhaps they would not catch him and, maybe, if he kept going until he was tucked away within the willows that belonged to his mother, they would not be able to follow...
The breeze whipped in his face as he ran, his senses honed in only on the presence of willow trees. Once, somewhere halfway in-between Willow Ridge and Grizzly Hollow, did the demon prince dare to look back, relieved to find that he could not scent either of them on the wind. As his paws found home territory underfoot, he adopted his characteristic amble where he skulked about like a weasel in the grass, weaving in and out of the umbrella-like canopies. He was convinced he was alone now, and as soon as he found the thicket where he had buried his dead mouse, he hid himself away from the world.
Piety would be forgotten.
(Exit).