There had been nothing to stay for - so he hadn't stayed. He'd been a vagabond from a young age, but it had taken years to hammer the fact into his stubborn heart: he was unwanted among his own, and he had the Gods to thank for it. Wasn't it perfect? He couldn't find it in himself to blame his poor, stupid parents for it, because which leaders didn't dream of blessings? It was just unlucky that the Gods had been listening and decided to meddle in the affairs of mortals, and the result? A broken life. Absolutely fantastic. Belial's features hardened into a scowl of sorts, and he didn't know whether he was happy or sad to be out of the mountains - the mountains that had been his life so far. On one paw, it might be good to not be shunned wherever he went. On the other... this was something very new. Unknown. It could be dangerous.

He sighed, clutching his useless, cursed wings closer to his thick chest. The trees here were tall, taller than he was used to, their crowns swaying overhead and blocking out the sun - it was too warm down here, too. Not only did he feel small and insignificant, threatened by the looming trees, but the air was thick and heavy and hot; up in his mountains, it had always been pleasantly cool. The unease only caused him to try and press his wings harder against his sides, and an annoyed look crossed his face, blue eyes darkening. Why was it so damn hot down here? He wanted to turn tail and run back to his lofty peaks and the valleys and the shrub trees... but there was no life for him there.

No - going back wasn't an option. Irritated with himself and the world, Belial pushed on, wandering through the forest. Seriously, how did one know their way around these places where you couldn't see for all the trees? He hissed quietly, stepping on soft moss and expecting sharp stones to stab his pads any second... but it never happened, and so he was constantly surprised. Belial's eyes narrowed, and the further he went, the more certain he became: something - somethings - were out there. He could smell them. In the back of his mind he decided he was curious; in the front of it, he decided they were in his way and that was why he kept walking towards them. The closer he came, the more he recognized the underlying patterns of their scents. Equine. Usually, that meant food, though he knew that a lot of the equines living in this area (unless he'd got his points of the compass tangled up again) were, uhm, not good for eating. Besides, he'd torn another muscle when hunting earlier that dawn, and concealing his limp was painful enough that he didn't feel like hunting more. In fact, he oughtn't be walking, but since when had Belial ever listened to reason?

Knowing full well what he was both capable and incapable of, the smilodon padded towards the trio. They were all fairly small, the two thicker - older - ones perhaps a little taller than he himself... Young, he presumed, with sticks on their heads. One of the sturdier ones, the chestnut male, had many sticks on his head. Wary but silent, the predator slunk through the shadows, claws safe within their sheaths. He breathed in the silence, drifted ever closer until he stood at the edge of the shadows, blue eyes narrowed in the slanting sunlight. "Boo," he muttered mirthlessly without much inflection, not expecting the sound to carry far. Maybe they'd hear, maybe not - he didn't care, not really. Not really. Right? Right.

.. right?