It is rare indeed for the eccentric WereLeopard to wander far from his dockside kingdom and yet on some occasions he is given to do just that, seeking variety to his nightly endeavours and indeed the fisherman have become wary, more prepared, so very few of them believing him to be a Were of any sort, his violent, animalistic nature assuring them that he is, indeed, merely animal and nothing else, an escaped zoo exhibit of a sort- his human form so rarely scene though he has walked amongst them on occasion. Humans so very rarely hold any ability to suspect the supernatural and indeed the man has made use of this on so many occasions. Tonight however, he seeks a different prey, having wandered from his kingdom of steel and wood, displeased of late by Lucian's interruption, the territorial beast dislike a dog on his land and yet for now his thoughts are inclined elsewhere, little seeking to permeate his mind beyond the heady scent of blood. It is tainted however, this blood, that scent of salt and rust mingled with blood so much like his own, the blood of predator and as such his stomach does not seek to fill itself upon such things, more so, he is readily drawn towards the weakness that permeates from it. Curiosity, after all, is readily within his nature.




His steps remain fluid and silent, heavy paws gliding along the shadowy rims of the branches above as he leaps from one tree to the next in silent pursuit of the woman. He knows this female, has been around her on a number of occasions, has permitted her within his dockyard and as such her sudden weakness and injury draws his attention. The scent of dog hits his nostrils in a manner he is inclined to find offensive, snorting in an effort to clear them once more as he leaps down from the trees above, black and gold spotted pelt melding with the half light of the coming darkness as he presses closer and closer to the waters edge and the female wolf whom abruptly shifts, the creamy tone of her skin visible against the back glow of the setting sun. His dark golden gaze however, has drawn rapidly away from the woman and towards the bubbling liquid that she reaches her hands into, splashing it against her bloodied sides in a decidedly human effort to fix her wounds. For a moment he simply sits, still concealed within the shadows of the forest as he watches, gaze wary as it lingers upon the water and perhaps his single greatest dislike upon this earth. The young male possesses no love for such a thing and indeed her proximity towards the clear liquid sees his own lithe form remain away.




He circles wide instead, the scent of blood still filling the air as he wanders forward at last, coming from the right side, careful to assure he remains clear of the bank, a low rumble of disdain vibrating within his chest as he comes directly towards the woman. Yet this time there is no pause, no greeting, the cat intent upon his desire as he takes advantage of her kneeling form, oblivious to her semi-nakedness for indeed such things mean little to the Were, eyes merely brushing over her form as he leaps. It is little more then a hop of sorts, one large paw lifted to slam into her chest, seeking entirely to knock her to the floor- though it is hardly playful, weight pressed down upon her chest, clearly determined to keep her there, pinning her as he would do prey, oblivious to the sheer fear this may cause within her before his head tilts as it so often does in his human form, seeming to look at his newfound victim with intense curiosity before those sizeable jaws part, revealing sharpened fangs as he continues to hold her in place. His muzzle drops lower however, fangs hooking within the belt loops of her jeans before he rises suddenly and abruptly once more, evidently content to drag her in the most undignified manner possible back and away from the water, the male having no desire to be beside it, head shaking slightly in an effort to dissuade her attempts at struggling before he proceeds to release her once more- only to pin her back to the floor beneath his heavy right paw, once more against her chest, holding her still again. That this is so far from socially acceptable it is very near bordering on assault has failed to register within the young man, claws sliding free from there sheaths in an effort to further convince her that no form of kicking or struggling is acceptable as his tongue reaches for her side, sweeping the length of the wound, wiping away the blood and dirt in a manner of wound treatment he finds entirely more acceptable then anything near as ridiculous as water. His actions hold no affection, merely, he is simply attempting to teach what he believes to be a very stupid wolf how better to take care of herself.




Tongue sweeps a final time across her side before he abruptly releases her, leaving her to finish for herself before wandering off a few paces once more as he proceeds to stretch beneath the moonlight, leaving the no doubt startled woman to do as she pleases as he does, working each kink and knot from his limber, lean form. He holds no love or affection for the girl, more so, her value rests within her ability to find him food and as such he does not desire that she dies from perfectly lick-able wounds.

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push