Scents of prey and wolven kind alike flooded the senses as a hunter prowled deep within the shadowed wood. Little else seeming to fill the mind of an accursed than to simply feed, hunt, satisfy that primal urge which bubbled within as more and more pieces of self lay forgotten. Shreds of civility a distance memory succumbing beneath the urge of hunger. Ferality a whisper one had hardly ignored even when clinging to humanity but now those wild thoughts ran rampant. Kept the false prince focused upon a sole purpose.

Taloned digits carved grooves against the earth beneath him. This was long past due for the servings of haunted staff hardly filled the void which burned within. Flesh had not been torn at in savage fury for what felt to be eons, blood had not slaked that undying thirst for violence, for vegeance; and while this would hardly satisfy such cravings it would be a step in the right direction. Sure it would only aggravate the curse, bring it to fester stronger than before, but in these moments he didn’t care.

What mattered was satisfaction.

So there was little need to bother dwelling on anything else as attentions fixated upon the very next sound heard, the unfortunate soul who’s scent dared to cross his path. And without a moments hesitation the behemoth lurched from the brush with jaws agape, attempting to snare hold of whatever flesh he could gain purchase upon. While exactly what lay before him remained a mystery clouded behind lust - it hardly mattered, it had never truly mattered.