Blood and Smoke | Open
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Ezra had lost control, the Wolf he had so often suppressed the only creature standing at the fore. And a wolf does not belong in a cage. The first chance he had he left his cage, still stained with the blood from the battle, not wishing to wash it from his skin. Then he was on the hunt, untamed primal longings demanding to be sated; he found a hunter hidden from the city in the debris, unkept rage over his Colony’s actions causing his hands to become cruel as he wildly ripped him apart. Saturated with a new layer of blood, he stood now in a home, burned by a fire, smoking a pack of cigarettes he tastelessly stole from one of the dead. Taking a long inhale he turns looking with golden orbs to the pair of eyes he feels rest on his shoulders.
