Sikeax,

If one was ever to ask her to explain Hobgoblin in one word, then it would simply be predator. It speaks volumes in one short way, and gives the impression that he is ruthless and violent, willing to crush the world beneath his weight at any chance. Anything that will fit in the three sets of jaws that he has is his. There will be no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
That is just what he is, a monster.
Black sands shift and mold against her hooves, the body made malleable by cold, frigid waves that roll in before her. She hasn’t gone there in some time. She even flew across the channel with the bridge when she left despite the uneasiness that it cost her. Fire is something that she loathes, even living in a place that seems to worship its very presence.
A body flies up into the air, followed by two splashes: one created by Hobgoblin as the upper half of his immense body slams the dark water, the second by the small, now long dead, animal that has pitifully become his meal. It’s probably another seal, one that wasn’t smart enough to get away in time, something that he could snatch and grab and then proceed to rip apart. He’s in one of those moods today, the kind where the predator in him takes the better of him and drives him into a state she isn’t quite sure she enjoys. They are far from one another today, and he doesn’t speak nor express a single thing to her.
Overcast clouds block out the sun. Mountains roll into their void-like bodies until they are no more, and snow does not litter the ground. Only black sand and black stones, the occasional dead animal, a ripped body part from the food that Hobgoblin effortlessly destroys.
She wishes he would come in land and hunt there. It’s much easier that way. His seal form could drag it through the waters and atop the sands with ease, and then he could shift to a Serva-
Something slams the ground. His meal.
Neither have cared to look at each other since his hunger took the best of him. Nothing has been exchanged, and it’s likely that it won’t be for some time. But now as his head raises from the depths, belly scraping the grasses lining the floor, their eyes become locked onto one another. Passion fills his, sadness overtakes her’s.
While she knows that he will never hurt her to the point of mutilation, instinct has control over both of them. He, as far as he is concerned, is at the peak of his performance. He has killed and will willingly do it again, maybe even violently. He likes, no, loves, possibly just lives for the thrill of the hunt, the outcry of pain and misery as the final breaths are taken as he takes them away.
It makes him feel like a motherfucking god.
She knows better than to run from him. The mangled corpse is missing chunks of its body now, resting no more than three feet from her. He is ready for another thrill, creeping, stalking her as she backs away from him. Had they been together, he would have felt the fear in her chest and attempted to control himself.
He lunges just as she turns to run, spraying sand and small stones into his face and eyes. Pain shouldn’t stop a well oiled killing machine just as himself, but it’s enough to bring him back into a dazed reality. Sikeax is not a meal, for now.
When he slithers back into the darkness, meal in tow, she is standing a good distance from the edge, nearly into the knee-high, ghostly dune grass, watching, mortified. Her tail is flowing in a cold breeze, her chest is heaving. There is a hint of white ringing her blue eyes.
For now.

OOC: Hobgoblin is in his leopard seal form.

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