Only the foolish would hate their kind which is separated by only a few, brilliant features. To loathe oneself bedecked with such beautiful and graceful appendages as wings was foolish, but if only the scant addition of a shining horn, Osiris would question just how idiotic your truly were. There are real monsters out there, making insanity the type to hate their own kind with a few minute additions or lack of them. Still, this world to which he was born was one caked in magic and insanity, both miraculous as it was frightening. To live in times such as these, perhaps one needed be a bit mad, but he was certain that many were taking that necessity to extremes.

The forest was lightening, and the wolf figured he had left the heartland of the trees and was now standing on the outer rim of Helovia. The naked branches of the trees were less heavily laden with snow than in the past few weeks, a sign that winter was coming to a most relieving end. If any creature was fit for cold weather, though, it was the fur covered mutt of an equine. His body was laced with a thick coat, preventing the chill from reaching his skin below. Even the wind, which tore through the empty branches above, was no match for the underlayer of his thick pelt. It was a sorry thing that his companion was born without such clothing, though the internal embers which burned in his belly kept the little black plenty warm. Great clawed paws squish through the mud left behind in the wake of melting snow, the brown liquid clinging to his fur and dirtying the legs. It mattered little; even clean, the wolf was not pleasing to gaze upon.

A screech from above signals the hybrid's attention, his golden eyes closing as he pauses. A mare, the dragon says, hovering above the trees. The violet gaze, much sharper than any hooved beings in the land, propelled forth to bring forth the image of her body. She was pretty, her gaze almost pink, but there was something in her step that Osiris found particularly haughty and annoying. She was directly in his path toward the Foothills, though, and his want to meet with his wolven family was greater than his need to avoid her. Opening golden eyes, the wolf moves onward, a few short minutes before he finds her gazing at her own reflection; vanity at its finest, and how it was disgusting. "Why must they taint us so?" A barking laugh rings from the hybrid's mouth as he tries to circle around her.

"Only children and the insane speak to themselves aloud," he says gruffly, flashes of serrated teeth barely visible under the thick skin of his lips. "Since you are not a child, is it safe to assume you are already tainted by your own demons?" As if she would even know what demons were.
""

He would have laughed at her attempt to cut him down, but instead her stopped his slow gait, tilting a head to her slowly, purposefully. Her fear was impressive, but boring, and the wolf could have moaned in desolation at such unfavorable company. The way she skittered and fled away from him, turning to stare at him feverishly with the same instinctual fear crawling around those magenta eyes was all too expected, but the sigh on the cusp of falling out into the air remains still in his chest, and only Comadre soaring above hears it. To deal with her, it seemed, would be very tiring to say the least.

Yet, the more the wolf thought about it, the more he had to admit that she was correct. Oblivion had been mad, had he not? There was the crazed look in his eyes as he stood in the cold waters of Isilme, bleeding out of every god forsaken pore and still having the dignity to speak of war, to speak of victory. He was callous, manipulative, but he was a brilliant machine when put into action, the pale white skull leading his way through unfriendly waters and toward his goals. The great wolf, while more naturally terrifying without need of adornments, was the opposite. He shifted away from the light of glory, did not seek out his passions, fell into the shadows of others and was driven... like a dog. Was that not what Oblivion's underlings had been called? Dogs? Never was there a more fitting being than Osiris to hold such a name.

A gruff, serious look dwells on her face for moments. "I spent far too long fulfilling the wishes of the mad," he says, quite matter-of-factly and without shame. If she had expected him to bow so easily to her, she had been wrong and, frankly, stupid. The way she had cowered from an peaceful, yet mouthy, approach was obviously stupid. Even as the girl gives up in a huff, pushing herself forward from the position she had taken, nearly sitting on her ass in surprise and fear of a creature who would sooner profess his love than take to injuring the innocent, he becomes aware this meeting is futile. She hated him, already, without knowing much about the mysterious hybrid other than the fact that he was ugly.

You're not ugly, Osiris, Comadre says even as he comes to land on the wolf's shoulder, head snaking around in a toothy grin. A laugh is stopped short as Osiris gleefully looks at his bonded, his voice muttering quietly so that the bitch in the forest wouldn't hear. "What would a reptile know of beauty?" Still, the beast leaves a serrated smile for his bonded as well, fully aware that the pair is being heavily judged by a pair of pink eyes. Her words spring forth next, and with a tired sigh, the hybrid turns his head back to her.

"An arrogant wretch like you is the one with a sour disposition," he says quite frankly, before beginning to walk forward again, paws sloshing in the mud as he moves. "You were only in my path, and I thought I should comment on your precarious habit to speak to yourself." Moving past her quite easily, almost quietly, were it not for the repugnant sound of mud being squished under his feet. Glancing over his shoulder, in time with Comadre, Osiris gives her a sarcastic smile. "Others would try to manipulate a loon instead of warning them to keep their mouths shut."
""