<i>Where are you going?</i> asked the ghost of his father. The black figure as always was walking at the real black wolf's side, shoulder to shoulder like they had never stood in real life. In some ways, Rhysis must have known that the mirage of his father was just that, a specter, a fragment of his mind so powerful it caused him delusions... but he found comfort in having the father he should of have back. As soon as the snap sounded and his little princess fell to the floor dead, his father had appeared. Not to comfort him, but to spur him on with life. Rhysis knew he wanted to die, every bone in his body ached from trying to pull him towards the nearest cliff or body of water, but the ghost of his father spared him time after time, encouraging him to move forward, to give him purpose in his life. Yet today, Rhysis led the way.
<b>"Home."</b> replied the wolf to the ghost, his tone serious yet empty as he followed his paws, one after the other as he used only instinct to find the log he had spent the past winter. His old life was forgotten, but the more time he spent within these woods, the more certain he felt he belonged here. Fragments of his past would appear as blurred images, distorted voices or even smells, but he couldn't piece them together. Heck, he couldn't even remember his own name and had been using the alias <i>Wolf</i> whenever the need for an identity should arise.
He was a ghost. Not an imaginary friend like the black wolf who walked, for once, silently at his side, but a wolf with no purpose, no identity and no reason to carry on. Sometimes he wished his father would vanish, so he could end his existence, but at other times, like today, he was grateful for some company. No matter how deranged and just fucked up it was.
Eventually the large hollow tree, and the hidden entrance came into view. A surge of remembrance bubbled up within him, but subsided again as he lowered his nose to touch the bark and inhale the scents. His had long been washed away and the area smelt sterile yet dirty. No permanent scent was burned into the tree's flesh, but there were several who had passed by or even used his home for shelter. The bastards. That was certainly going to change now he was here.
In silence, he moved around the area like a feline. His shoulders rolled with each movement, his head hung low as if he was on the hunt. His gaze eerie but focused as he made sure anyone close by would know that the big bad wolf had taken back a roost in grandma's house... and no girl in a red cape would take his home from him again.
Satisfied that he had done enough to secure his home from terrorists, River wolves and females (some of the few things which he had remembered) he set off on the hunt for some food. Surprisingly, his condition was not nearly as bad as it had been when he had last been here, despite the turmoil he had been through the last few months. The mind of a cold killer didn't wait until it was hungry to feed, he took what he wanted when he saw it and had often wasted a life for no reason. He'd fallen fawns just to make mothers cry. He'd killed rabbits just because he could. He left meat, blood and gore in his wake, eating more often then he needed to... just because he could and it gave him something to do, if only for a moment.
His footfalls were silent, as if he hovered above the ground, as he meandered the lanes and aisles of the wood, his nose to the floor every so often as he tracked something alive to slaughter. A shadow slipping in and out of darkness, he was a wolf on a mission. For no reason at all.
</blockquote>