Post by £€G@©Ÿ on Apr 20, 2009 11:15:51 GMT -5
Oh gosh. The brute will do anything to become Alpha. His heart pounds with the power and need to lead the dark pack. He has the power to control the pack, he just feels it, lying under his fur, patient until recently, when it has grown restless. He feels the need to fight, feel blood--not of the pitiful prey, but of another wolf--on his claws, feel his muscles bunch, leap, dodge............ kill. He wants to race, tackle, claw, feel pain... cause pain, and lead. He wants to fight for the pack, not have it handed over to him by forfeit, though that might just be as well. Twisted climbs the heated rock, that should be burning his paws, but he only feels the slight tingle of heat. Having specilized in flame, he can control parts of the volcano the pack has taken refuge by. From his vantage point, he can look over the camp and most of the land. The heated wind ruffles his fur, and his claws dig into the rock. Tiny shards of the heated stone tumble down the side, and Twisted watches, disgusted. He sees the nursing she-wolves in the camp, their little, loud and annoying brats tumbling on the rocky ground. Bunching in muscles, he leaps, outstretched, as if he is going to tackle some invisisble opponent. He lands on his forepaws, legs bent, bracing for hte impact. Almost the instant his paws touch the ground, he is running, soaring down the hill. The wind races through his fur, whispering to him meaningless words as he runs past on flying paws. The ground evens out, and his momentum fails, letting his slow, breathing heavily. His teeth are bared with delight of the race, the adrenaline that he wants and needs, the adrenaline that comes with fighting for his life. The live or die. He is panting, but grinning like a puppy that he has thought stupid and abnoxious.
