who we are and all that we're trying to be
Likely due to his intimidating, reticent prowess, his shifts maintained the same semblance, no matter which animal he chose to regard and inhabit. This one being the newest, it held a certain enigmatic trace in his muscles and sinew, in his brawn and barbarity, an open gauge of calamity and vigilance, violence and entropy. A release of vehemence and brutality, a schism of those hollowed ventures he once resided within, a breath of the past, an opportunity for wilderness and untamed fragments, where viciousness presided, reigned, and declared, rather than merely brewing, brimming, beneath the surface of his skin.
For now, it chiseled and sculpted just there, a barrage of ferocity longing to unwind, unfurl, relish and rampage – but he tilted his head instead, every inch the predator, the hound sought from hell, before the traces of amusement. He offered her a brief snort, might’ve given a singular wag of his tail at the comment, and otherwise shrugged his shoulders. There was a quip, some reign of sarcasm, bridging through his mind, but then he pushed it aside, savoring the opportunity instead. Hunting? That he’d obviously interrupted – not bothered in the least, because there was still time, moments, to stretch and chase, to bombard and maul.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
