He knows those words, that lilt, that flow in a language that poses both questions and answers for the young male of gold and copper as he weaves his way in and out of the undergrowth. He is alone today, an unusual thing, for indeed it seems that many of Glorall’s females have chosen to take part in his offer of company and truly, despite the beauty of his mind, despite his ability to understand levels and plains of capability far beyond the norm- often the most basic of situations allude him. He does not understand why the females come, why Selene, Everchime, Salem and even Malina linger in his company. He truly believes that they wish to be educated as Seven often did and often does not see their lingering glances or the way they try to brush against him so subtly, Ever more so then any other and indeed Malina had sought no more then friendship, or so his mind believes. After all, girls are a strange and unusual species, one that his mind is often repelled from for he finds them quite unpredictable and unstable. While many parts of himself are drawn towards them, many others pull back. He cannot forget, nor ever will he, that it was the girls who had been cruellest to him as a child. He was getting better of course, each new female met with a gorgeous grin and flamboyant bow that displayed the natural exuberance and confidence of his personality, perfectly shielding the insecurities beneath, a ruse he played well with each new encounter and yet today, surely, he would have been far better off leaving this particular girl alone.

As ever though, he is incapable of denying the hunger of his mind anything it should desire, the boy’s conscious a continually story of characters and events weaved within his head like with delicate care, a continuing story of his life in which all those he meets play characters to be assessed and pondered over and today- he seek’s the one who speaks with the words of what he knows to be the latina, though he does not speak it himself he had heard it once, long ago, when he had first met Malina. The language of the Angels. Pausing the golden creature allowed his head to tilt, black eyes seeking movement ahead as he moved forward in a steady and easy lop, parting the undergrowth just in time to see a large, dark female begin her ascent of the falls. For a few moments Pan allowed himself to be content, analysing the creature, surprised at her size and the darkness of her pelt. He has heard tales of these Angels and yet until Malina he had believed them all to be the colour of snow, the white pelt some symbol of purity of blood and values. Yet, evidently either some dark wolves had been permitted within, else managed to bleed into the sacred bloodline and truly Pan finds this fascinating, his mind alight with questions as his handsome features continue to watch her climb, frowning slightly as she did. Her climb could have been dramatically improved had she approached from a lesser angle and for a wolf her size she would have benefited significantly from stretching her legs further and making use of her leg span. He keeps these thoughts to himself as he slips forward, moving to follow her trail, his shorter limbs directed towards another part of the falls, leaping with nimble and precise ease before landing silently and gracefully atop the cliff.

His lips parted, preparing to introduce himself and inform the female of her mistakes when she rose abruptly, her pray within her jaws, moving to dangle it over the falls as the gorgeous golden boy merely watched with furrowed brow and black eyes narrowed. Surely she did not intend to drop it? Why should she? Having survived alone for two years, with nought but his Brother and Salem, Pan had learned early on the value of food and indeed, as the dark female proceeds to drop the mouse, wasting the morsel, the young male finds his tail flick in agitation. He is far outweighed and outsized by the girl, despite being of the same and age and yet his approach is confident all the same, he knows well enough the disadvantages of too greater size and holds no fear of such a thing, that she is female, his true source of discomfort- is overlooked for this moment, confusion and indeed some judgement reflecting within the obsidian of his eyes as he stands behind her, claws scraping against the ground to announce his presence, waiting for her to turn towards him as he gleams within the sun, pelt alight with gold and copper.

“Please excuse my interruption, but I know you to be of the Angels, you speak their language and you carry their scent and yet, I have just witnessed you destroy a creature for pleasure and folly. I cannot claim to poses a working understanding of all things Angelic, yet I am taught to believe, as many are, that the life of prey is not to be wasted, that to kill without the intent to eat shows disrespect for life. Tell me, what sort of Angel are you?”


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31in 139lbs ~ 3 years ~ No Mate ~ No Imprint ~ Indus x Wild Justice ~ Prodigy of Glorall