A brown and gray male watched the snowy fae as she examined the ruins. The mascu as well had been startled when he had come across them, but he had deciphered what they were. Religious things, offerings to the God's that some foolish lupe's, and possibly even those awful two-leggers believed in. Someone who controlled your fate, who decided whether or not you lived or died simply because you did or didn't say Please.
Ha. Belial can do without religion, that was for sure.
A disinterested snort was blown out from both nostrils, and the male made himself ready to leave. After all, this femme was overly curious, barely on gaurd at all. With his elite training, it would have been no challenge whatsoever to take her now, land on her back from his perch high above and rip her to shreds before she even saw his face.

But Belial was not going to do that; and nor would the large stud turn around. Instead an unspeakable force compelled him to show himself, and he rose from his crouch, shaking the shrubbery off of his glorious coat. The male surveyed the jump, Landing with catlike ability on all four paws. His stride was stiff-legged, and the male made sure to let this fae know he was not going to submit. He would not demand submission either; the male simply refused to submit to anyone, albiet perhaps his father.

A smooth, deep voice, as silky as melting chocolate erputed from the creature's larynx; and Belial made himself known further to the femme before him.

They're religious. For that creature called God.

A shiver ran down the calm brujo's spine as he surveyed the straight-backed femme before him, careful visionaries following her every twitch and heave. She seemed stiff, as though you could drop her from a cliff and she would remain unpliable the entire way down, and truthfully Belial thought it slightly foolish. He had been taught by his father to always be loose and expecting attack; there was never a relaxed posture in the form of the gray timber wolf who accosted the femme that day. His stoney expression was the only thing rigid about the lupe.

As she spoke, the mascu's hackles rose, creating an impressively scary sight. For a moment, the male looked truly demonic, as though he had been possessed by a force of evil. This did not pass entirely; one just got used to the sight of the bristling canine rather quickly, and so became more accostomed to the danger in his deep yellow pools. The mascu spoke again in repliance to her crude sentence; the fae seemed to have little brain activity. This time, however, his lyrics presented a new coolness that had not been felt before; an alliance was not likely to be made between the two.

You are no assistance to me. I suppose, then, I am "wasting your time", nameless fae?

An emotionless gaze was all that his pools held; the male had never been taught to feel emotion. He had been taught to fight and to obey orders from higher ranking wolves. He had been taught to do his duty bravely; he had been taught, above all, to not discard duty for the sake of friendship. Where he came from, there was no such thing as a friend. There were allies; even they were not strong connections. Allies were the sort who would join you on a hunt; but then, if you were given the job to kill them, you did so with form and did so quickly. No one was safe, and nothing was sacred.

As the femme shrugged, and spoke her name, he became annoyed with her. She seemed to think he was a pompous fool; and he disliked that. An air of aloofness was what he posessed; and many simple minded wolves mistook it for pride. Though they mightn't be all that simple minded in fact, it was just the way that Belial viewed those people who labelled him something he was not. A contract killer was his calling, not a King. He was living to serve.

Litai. May the future bless you.

It was the standard greeting from his pack, and he rattled it off without thinking. He never thought of it's meaning, or the future; especially not the future. It was too unpredictable to try and uncover. His vocals rang once more, and this time with a little less coolness. She seemed to be giving up on her tough girl act and beginning to be herself. He would, too.

I am Belial Lucifer Appolyon the Third; A long title, to be sure. Belial will suffice; it still is a mouthful.