You’ve got to be so cold



7 y/o large Male
Eton, male butterfly
© Night
Nostrils flared as he walked further from the pond. An odd mood had struck the male, and his eyes now blazed with pure fury like the embers they so resembled. Claws sank into the dirt beneath his feet, ripping soil free with each step as if he meant to tear the very Earth asunder. A low growl rumbled in his chest, lips peeling back to partially expose his sharp fangs, muzzle wrinkling. Slightly narrowed eyes did nothing to diminish his sight, and the beast moved within the shadows that he found more plentiful here. Energy thrummed in his veins, and it was singing a war ballad. So, was he out for blood? Mm, perhaps. Or perhaps it was something more.

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