Moonspirit

Background is unknown. This mortally wounded creature showed up on the edge of the clan, screeching nonsense as they thrashed about. Flesh from all parts had been torn off, revealing ribs and bone, and the neck had been torn open in a cruel mimicry of a Nocturne’s neck sail. They were charmed so they wouldn’t die, however do not act like a dragon would, or even appear sentient for that matter. Their mannerisms are more akin to a curious mammal or bird, however, one that feels the need to spill blood itself.

The wind whisked across the landscape, scattering leaves and causing a plume of dust to rise above the ground. Long blades of grass that normally swayed easily in a small breeze were pushed low against the dirt, moving in ripples and waves as dictated by the wind. Up above the clouds moved quickly, tumbling and merging as they spread their imposing black fingers across the sky, blotting out what was left of the warm sun's rays and the bright blue sky. The storm that most had been expecting was no longer on the horizon, but rather right on top of them. Dragons rushed to their homes, slamming their doors before the incoming maelstrom could rip them off of their hinges. They huddled close amongst their brethren, shutting themselves off from the outside world as they wrapped themselves in blankets to wait out the impending chaos in their humble abodes. It was the sane thing to do, after all. Best to hide away in safety rather than face the storm head on. Even the wild creatures that had no hut to go back to attempted to stay out of the open, pressing their bodies against the ground to hide in the grass, hiding themselves away in burrows and nooks and crannies. Even the birds, which would fly so high, steered clear from the trees that stretched their wooden limbs upwards. Those that hadn't already established an unmovable family in some acacia tree took refuge in bushes and the brush, unwilling to be any higher. In the distance, a tiny flash of light lit up the horizon, the resounding thunder soon echoing across the landscape. It was a clear warning, plain and simple. Expose yourself out in the open, fly too high, and there might not be anything left of you to recover and bury. Your dust and charred remains would be lost to the wind.

But Willow didn't care for the weather's warnings.

The snow leopard had his stomach pressed to the ground, pristine white fur stained by the ashen dust that so often littered the Shifting Expanse. His limbs moved slowly and deliberately, carefully unwinding to stretch out and cling to the earth below, meant to pull him forwards and keep his balance as he slowly retracted them back towards his body. Every muscle in his body was tensed up, rippling below his pelt, fluidly distorting the spots which littered his fur every time he moved. His striking purple eyes scoured the savannah for a meal, as his stomach let out a rumble that must be satisfied soon. Willow didn't like being hungry. At times he enjoyed the challenges which living alone and in the wild presented to him, but having an empty stomach was never something he had grown used to. Of course, the Skydancer had never expected to be at ease with constant pains in his stomach when he had first decided to live at his own, but it would at least be nice if he could at least grow complacent with the discomfort. That insatiable urge to stomp out the pain in his belly was the most prominent reason why he was out just before a storm was about to sweep the land. The thrill of excitement and danger that would course through his veins when a bolt of lightning would strike close, too close, close enough that he felt it would graze his fur was nice, but a meal was even better. Willow know that most dragons would consider him crazy, the dragon himself even pondered if he could be considered sane at time. Willow smiled slightly to himself. Even if he was sane, he was still different. That much was apparent. So why bother being like everyone else?

A sudden burst of movement not too far ahead of him caught the Skydancer turned snow leopard's attention, and his pupils narrowed to slits as he stared through the blades of grass to better observe what had captured his gaze. After a bit of looking, he saw it again. Those bright colors, the skink-like pattern, the languid yet quick was in which the creature moved. Willow smirked to himself upon realizing just what he was looking at. A coursing skira. Or, in other words, dinner served to him on a golden platter. While the smooth skin of the creature could be tough to chew, and clumps of fur left an odd taste in his mouth, the meat Willow could strip from the bones of the creature was rich and juicy, tough at times to get through but very filling. And the size of the creature made it well worth the speed that it chose to chase it down. Willow began to stalk forward once again, eyes trained on his prey. He would not lose sight of it, not when he was so close already. Willow had already put himself at risk by exposing himself in the open just before a massive storm was about to release its pent up rage on the land, to retreat now would be downright insulting. Willow's claws sank into the ground to steady himself, having to hold himself back from pouncing after the creature. If he pounced too early, it would get away. If he waited too late, it would see him and run off. Willow had learned to trust his animalistic instincts, and not let the giddy excitement of his dragon side get in the way.

~~~~~

Five main emotions:
Shy/quiet/bookworm, uninterested/not motivated/sleep, optimistic/loud/energized, rude/sarcastic/lonely, creepy/ominous/possibly a sadist

Obsessive.