Long ago, Cheshire had poisoned his father, left his mother amidst the ruins, and fled before its walls could crumble down with a monarchy’s lack thereof. Supposedly, he had destroyed a kingdom, a vast empire, all because he had killed the Alpha via deadly berries and escaped, leaving his killer a mystery unsolved. Nobody had come for him yet. His throat still felt as though it was intact. Therefore he felt that it was safe to assume that his mother had covered for him. She cared about him so much. It was a shame, really, that such a powerful love had been wasted. She didn’t realize that her little angel had suddenly become mad. It probably would have been in the best interest of the world had she organized a party to track him down and slaughter him - maybe find a way to sneak some berries into his meal so that he could face a death much like his father’s. He wouldn’t have been missed. He wouldn’t have had the chance to make a name for himself, or at least, a name under his new name. He was no longer Everan. He liked to think that the poor wolf died with his father, or maybe even starved to the point of his demise when things got hectic and uncontrollable throughout the pack while they tried to discover their next King. . . how unfortunate that the Heir had vanished into the night.  Yes, option two sounded much more appealing. That way, Everan would have at least properly suffered. What was the point of death if it was quick and painless?

He knew exactly where he was going. The closer that he had neared to the Erenyx borders, the more abundant that the rumours had become. He had heard enough of the demonic sovereign to have piqued his interest and slightly altered his path. He wondered, sometimes when the quiet got too consuming during his lonesome travels, whether or not he’d be accepted for who he was amongst an already present and lingering evil. It didn’t necessarily matter. He didn’t intend to enlighten any of the Erenyx residents that there was more than what meets the eye. It wasn’t like it was obvious, so who would it possibly affect? He was nothing more than one’s average Healer, if not slightly above average by his own standards. He had no intention of offering himself in the form of a Warrior - if that was all that they desired from those that neared their borders, then he would happily be on his way. His battle prowess was not meant to be the primary focus of their attention - what was the fun of them immediately knowing that he was a fighter? What would be the big surprise if not the catastrophic downfall of the victim that dare strike a Healer? It’d probably remain a mystery forever. Nobody in their right mind would mess with a Healer, after all. The fun thing about being able to heal was that, more often than not, lives were put into your capable paws. It’d be most unpleasant if an enemy, call them what you will, was in dire need of your miracle after so many days of taunting and torture. Accidentally messing up their treatment would be truly calamitous. . . for them.

He paused along the outskirts of the pack’s border, eying his surroundings thoughtfully, having nothing but time in the world to observe, analyze, and scrutinize down to the very last detail. He wanted to have a feeling for their territories, or at least what of it he could see. He assumed that their kingdom was far more vast, and far more regal than what his sight permitted. But there was only one way to find out - he had every intention of passing their most enjoyable test. Inclining his neck, the bluish-gray and black male sounded his thunderous howl for all to hear, summoning to him any male and/or female of power that wished to meet with him and discuss the likelihood of entry. Slowly, the song came to a timely stop, the air returning to its former peace and quiet. Naturally, he found himself lowering his head a touch, his limbs aiding in minimizing his height, as to not pose a threat to the dominant wolf he assumed would be upon him. His size was nothing short of - well that was precisely the case: he was not short. Average sized, certainly, though he still liked to think of himself as tall when compared to that of the ordinary female. How intrigued would his company be to set their sights upon such a prosperous Warrior, exterior-wise, only to find that he fancied a lifestyle far more elegant?

Ah, was that the beautiful scent of fresh blood that wafted upon the wind? It was beautiful, it was tantalizing, and it filled his muscular body with a reviving sense of aliveness. His ears perked, eager, prepared, as the greenery parted in a forceful line to grant passage to the Devil himself. In his jaws hung the body of a limp rabbit, its carcass tempting - he was in no way starving, and thus pulled his gaze away with ease - with the promise of a healthy pack that thrived in their environment, plump with the consistent supply of food. There was a certain degree of intrigue alight in the charming character’s playful gaze, searching the Alpha’s expression when his jaws hung agape, the rabbit gathered at his paws where it had newly been dropped, as though there would a sign upon the surface that indicated would had been behind what bordered shock. The black furred Devil looked at him like he was somebody from his past, somebody that had been involved in his lifespan - what interesting and riveting events occurred throughout the journey of this empty-eyed monstrosity! - and he could not wait until he could be truly involved. He’d, undoubtedly, be quick to differentiate himself from whoever it was that he had managed to resemble. He wasn’t necessarily the type that blended into the crowd. He was a different kind of uncertainty, and it’d be so pleasant and exciting to be unleashed upon the violent kingdom that was Erenyx.

With a creepily defined smile that stretched from corner-to-corner of his powerful mouth, the brawny male lowered himself into a position of proper submission as to not offend his higher-up. He knew better than to test his boundaries with this one; it’d be in his best interest to play it safe. Regardless, he could not help but wreak of what of him was infectiously delightful. He was a mad individual; a male of his own tendencies, no matter how unusual a tendency it was to be. His bright eyes, turquoise in hue, flashed in a beloved portrayal of inner mischief and trickery, yet somehow guarded by refreshing tinges of innocence that made it all the more believable that he was trustworthy. To an extent, he was trustworthy, and he’d make for a grand addition to this Alpha’s ranks. He had no plans of quarrelling with any of Erenyx’s wolves, nor did he have any plans of attempting to stir some trouble upon arrival, and that was pretty good news when he was the topic of conversation. He simply wished to heal, to be free to heal, and to heal as he saw fit. He was cunning, and to a certain point one to be considered insane and unworthy of holding one’s life in his paws. He had nothing against throwing a few of the deadlier berries into a wolf’s remedy, as was seen in the episode with his father, but nonetheless he was talented and talent was highly scoped for in the field that he sought. He could bring a vast knowledge of herbal treatment into Erenyx’s realm, and he would serve them diligently with the proper permission. There was a very minimal price to pay: that being the fact that they’d house a criminalistic Healer. But, alas, was that not beneath the title of Erenyx? He had heard rumours of this wolf standing before him, of his greed and of his sadistic glory, and thus Cheshire had grown expectant that he’d be more than thrilled to have a handful of willing-to-be violent servants under his paw.

“As you wish, my Alpha.” Dipping his bluish-gray and black head even closer to the ground than once was, his smile still apparent, he cast two curious eyes at an upward slant. “My name is Cheshire, and my business involves the pleasantry of all things remedial, perhaps the offering of such services to you, sovereign, and your pack if you’d wish to have me.” He would not allow himself to so freely roam over the features of his superior, analyzing him and learning more about him, and probably in the process of it earning himself a hard bite. He wasn’t so peculiar at heart as to not understand the customs of a pack. Frankly, his face was molded into an array of indifference and admirable intelligence at all times, and thus he posed a force to be reckoned with in the masterful arts of circle-talking. He was an individualistic creature, and he liked to follow his own rules under the mask of following the rules of hierarchy.