The sun had nearly completed setting, and yet he still had not been able to make up his mind. How long had he spent up here, watching white light turn golden and then melt vivid red, pacing and snapping at the air in frustration? His pale eyes passed over the gravesite for the thousandth time, eyeing it with mixed feelings of deep desire and immense hatred. With melted snow and time the dirt had settled to the point that it was no longer discernible that he had dug the corpse up months before. On that day, Phineas' body had been mummified, wrapped in frostbitten black skin and preserved by the ice. Spring would have brought heat that would awaken the decomposers, and judging by what he had learned from observation, there was now nothing but bones beneath the soil.
Oh, how he wanted those bones.
It was the closest he would come to what he actually wanted, the nearest he could hazard tiptoeing on the precipice of what would surely be the end of him if he was to just close his eyes and leap. Sven felt deeply (but perhaps that was the power of self-deceit) that just possessing the skeleton of another wolf would be enough to calm the thirst within him that wanted to fell one of his own kind. So it was necessary, wasn't it? To stem this incredible wanting before the dam walls of his self control became too weak. Grave robbing was better than murder.
But better didn't mean acceptable, and just as he had nearly convinced himself to turn the earth with his dull claws, Sven turned away quickly with a tormented yowl. It wouldn't matter if he hadn't been the jaws to end the life if his treasure hoard was found. But there are wolf bones in here, Sven, her voice echoed within his head, and the apprehension within her sunshine eyes burned through his memory. He couldn't dare ever give @Sahalie a reason to look at him like that. He would leave this mountain empty-pawed. He had to.
But oh, he didn't want to.
Another frustrated whine slipped past his loosened jaws as he circled around the gravestones that he had so carefully replaced, anger beginning to seep into the sound. This wasn't fair. She was the one that had opened the door allowing him to begin feeling comfortable with himself as he was and now it was incessant thoughts of the same vibrant girl that was keeping him from reaching that truth. The decision of what was more important had already been self-sacrificingly made, but why was it so difficult to accept, to control himself? Would it ever get easier, or was he damned to always live in some kind of hell regardless of how many escapes and breakthroughs he made?