Serris was worried. Which, shockingly, happened more often than he would have liked. The aftermath of a recent fight lay in plain view upon the dark King’s hide, clots of crimson fluid still matting his fur despite his every effort to get them out. But it wasn’t his injuries that worried the regal; no, it was the outcome of the battle, which, strangely, had still not been determined. The jagged wounds had scabbed days ago, aided by the cool early winter waters of his packland, and still no verdict was reached. The challenger hadn’t shown her face for a rematch either, which meant one of two things. Either a) he had won the fight and not heard the news or b) someone was going to dine in Hell tonight for their laziness on such a pressing matter. A bloody pack challenge and they couldn’t muster the respect to decide it quickly. And now he was forced to wait, another layer of stress added to his list of ever-present burdens, and question what he should do in a situation like this.

He had heard a call a few days back, a cry of loneliness that the Alpha knew all too well, and it pained him to not respond to it. But Serris’ wounds were still raw and tender; he was not the kind of knight to openly display such weakness. So he stayed where he had been since returning home, near the banks of the stream that was the only thing between him and a fatal infection. When he caught a whiff of Aindreas he knew he couldn’t go. He wasn’t ready to face that boy right now. It was hard to believe that his own Epsilon could betray him, but the evidence was burned into harsh in the King’s mind that he could think of no other possibility. Whether it was anger or shame that kept him away, Serris remained in his banishment. Was he even Alpha at this point? The rules were so muddy he couldn’t tell.

Hours turned to nights, and nights to full days, and Serris couldn’t take much more. This was ridiculous. At least his injuries were healing nicely... well, as nice as a full-on gash to the stomach could heal. It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t sour with bacteria. That’s all that mattered. Night descended on him like the closing of an eyelid, the dark more smothering than he remembered. It had snowed a few days back, delicate flakes clinging to the still-warm ground, and enough had accumulated to make walking even more of a pain. It didn’t help that his shoulder was already ripped and shredded. But life sucked, and he got over it. No, Serris wasn’t in a very good mood lately, in case you hadn’t noticed.

The perfume came to him softly at first, then stronger as the creature took up residence on his borders. Another newcomer, eh? Ebony paws twitched at the need to go meet this stranger, but Serris kept them still. The fight was still up in the air, and Serris didn’t know how to act anymore. He rested his skull in defeat, a puff of creamy air swirling from his lips. He expected to pick up Aindreas scent any second now – the boy had always been so diligent with border duty – but minutes passed and no such musk came. Huh? Odd. Finally giving up, Serris allowed instinct to take over and he was on his feet in an instant, pistons unsure of their strength after so much neglect. Walking still hurt -- how could it not? – but the leader swallowed the pain with a grimace and tried to focus on avoiding any branchy traps concealed beneath the fresh blanket of powder. Lucky for him he knew the land so well it was no real effort. The journey was slow but determined, and at long last he made it to his destination.

The girl was alone, which was nearly a first for the well-followed regal, lying in the snow. He didn’t pause in the slightest before pushing his way through the underbrush, banner raised to the height of his rank, but he only held it there long enough for her to get the memo before dropping it along with the lower half of his body. The giant scab on his underside did appreciate being compressed, but at least it didn’t open as it had been lately. He turned his cranium towards this strange mistress, aqua portals as cold at the substance below their bodies, his third and final wound flashing pink in the moonlight. Two lines ran down his cheek, the iron brand of two relentless canines. He would be proud of his facial scar while it lasted; it was disappear soon enough, concealed by a veil of charcoal fur.

He took in the vixen, everything about her look the complete opposite of his. Alabaster coat, amber spheres, young build. There was no expression on his face, but there was no cruelty there either. It was... exhausted indifference. She would have to understand. ”It seems you have made your way to Munashii Gekko at the most unfortunate of times, but that does not stop me from welcoming you to these dark borders. I am Serris.” A small grin tried to push onto his features. He didn’t give a title because he couldn’t. He just wasn’t sure. Despite, his words were oddly calm for the midnight brute, not his usual dose of sarcasm. He only hoped this stranger wouldn’t exploit his obvious weakness; wouldn’t he, in the same situation?