To those unused to waiting, each second that the clock ticks by is torture. Fulfillment is sought desperately by the pampered, for whom gratification is expected to be immediate and best and momentarily delayed at worst. Those who have not lived through numerous disappointments are not prepared to tarry for any individual, and will not do so under any circumstance. Scion is not like that. Rather, he is used to waiting. The slim boy has never viewed himself as someone worthy of immediate positive attention, as his upbringing firmly prevented those kind of thoughts from taking root in a member of his traitorous clan. In his old life, those who did poorly were punished for their transgression, no matter how minute, often more brutally than was strictly necessary. Doing well was not usually equated with any acknowledgment, save for a withheld insult of the verbal and/or physical variety. His masters would come and go as they would, and he, the lowly scion, had no choice but to wait until they deigned to make an appearance. To an extent, waiting was woven into his very being, and made up an essential part of the “nurture” aspect of his personality. He was constantly expected to wait until given instruction to proceed, be it in order to eat, sleep, or go off duty for a period of time during his experience as an elite soldier and bodyguard.

Due to this predisposition toward waiting, the lad did not expect that a pack wolf would deign to swiftly respond to the aroma of a newcomer lacing their border, especially once the specifics of his scent made it somewhat obvious that this particular battered stranger had no intention of trespassing, looting or challenging. Even so, the multi-toned beast stood as if he expected the alpha to make an appearance at any time, and continued to keep his senses on high alert as to pick out any faint sounds or scents that would indicate the approach of an insider. His blank slate facade remained firmly in place for the duration of his time alone on the border, never changing as he sought to lock the slight murmur of desperation away before his feelings could create a ripple of unease to change the utter soullessness of his countenance. He knew that he needed to make a good impression on whatever creature came to greet him at the borders in order to have a chance of atonement in this new pack. If he made a negative impression and was deemed useless or weak, it was only natural that he would be expelled immediately or killed. The latter would be preferable at this point, as the former would no doubt simply offer a more convoluted route to the same result.

Scion absorbed the details of the land like a sponge as he stood silently before the figurative wall presented by the scent of the pack. His striking emerald eyes roved about within their sockets, taking in the greenery of a bountiful land, while his alert auditives likewise moved, their cupped shape allowing him to capture the light sounds of bird song and the ever-present sigh of the wind as it caressed each tree branch. His black nose also twitched slightly, doing its part to relay raw sensory data to his brain for processing and storage. The information that his elite olfactory system gathered was, by virtue of his species, by far the most interesting and vibrant. He could smell the scars of an old fire on the breeze, heralded by the faint trace of ash in the air. The scents on the border also stood out in vivid detail. The musky aroma of a particular male stood out most of all, although the tell-tale signatures of a few other canines of varying genders also laced the edge of the territory. At the moment, the servile boy could not detect the presence of any decaying bodies within the lands, which perplexed him slightly, bringing questions to the forefront of his mind as to the location of these corpses. In his present state, he could not comprehend that perhaps this pack did not routinely slay others simply for the sake of honing their skills. He had never experienced anything normal in all of his four years, and therefore sought an explanation based on his previous life.

Scion's level of alertness proved to be beneficial, as the pack's envoy arrived far more swiftly than the lean lad would have presumed to guess he would. Being a warrior by training and practice, the wraithlike beast was able to detect the barest trace of the oncoming wolf's approach before the other showed himself. This was not due to any blunder on the part of the lord, whose footsteps were excellently placed and near silent, as much as it was due to the fickle wind, which had shifted ever so slightly, carrying the heady musk to Scion's awaiting nostrils. The knowledge of the wolf's approach brought a slight hunch to the boy's shoulders. It was an unconscious reaction, built in over the years to the extent that the presence of an unknown superior would make him instinctively react to shrink in on himself in the only way that was acceptable. He did not exactly cower, his back and stilts remained straight, as to not deposit his cream underbelly on the forest floor, and his tail hung limp rather than curling appeasing between his hind limbs, but the display, though less obvious and weak, held the same message. Scion was far from at ease. His eyes, which had previously been actively wandering about, trained themselves resolutely on the detritus at his paws, so he would not cause offense by accidentally engaging eye contact.

The distance between the king and his potential underling closed as the ebony regal moved forward confidently, each pawstep shrinking the gap between them. Scion was almost unbearably curious as to what the new wolf looked like, but was too disciplined to lift his head to regard the male. He was no fool, and would not jeopardize his place by showing himself to be poorly trained in front of the soldier who had come to greet him. It did not matter what rank the creature held – he was still much higher ranked than Scion himself was. Even so, since the scent that lay most heavily on the borders matched the scent that the character in front of him was emitting, Scion assumed he was the alpha, though he had no way to be absolutely sure unless the other informed him directly of his position via word or body motion. Even if the greeter had been a mere omega, Scion's reactions would have been mostly the same. He would be deeply subservient around whatever canid came to meet him, as he was around most wolves. He had never known any differently.

As the virile in front of him ceased forward motion, Scion's eyes drifted ever so slightly upward, following a pair of large black paws that transformed upward into a shapely set of slender ebony legs. The upward ascent of his gaze stopped before the chest of the other wolf, again due to the fear of accidental eye contact. He glanced back down soon after, ears flattening as a quiet, cool voice entered the atmosphere. The words caused the already tense creature to grow still more confused, as he could not tell if the set of lyrics was meant to be chastising or comforting. He murmured a demure response to them nonetheless and was about to raise his chin when two things happened simultaneously. First, he became aware of the presence of a stealthy warlord just downwind of him, and secondly, the dark-coated sir let out a quiet huff of amusement and began to speak again. His next words were exceedingly more confusing, and the action that followed still more so. After the air had stopped ringing with the well modulated voice, Scion cautiously raised his head.

His confusion vanished when he put two and two together, realizing that this must be some sort of test. If he made a move to attack Darcia, the sneaky one in the woods would attempt to dispatch him for his foolishness. Scion deduced that it was a clever plan, and therefore made absolutely no motion to even twitch toward the shadowy stag. Because of his deduction, he was surprised when the male who had been concealed emerged from the healthy summer foliage. Scion's emerald gaze widened when the snowy varg threw an easy wink his way, and nodded quickly and earnestly to inform the other male of his cooperation. The male's silent saunter and raised flag carried a dual message, both enforcing obedience and informing Scion of his plan. Content that he had obeyed to the best of his ability, the ghost was content to simply watch the shenanigans unfolding before his eyes.

The easy friendship so obviously displayed between the two bellators did not necessarily instil confidence into the abused creature across their borders. Scion had been taught that the way a ranked wolf treated his equals did not always correlate with how he treated those under him. Therefore, it was not without trepidation that the mistrusting beast eyed the two, his magnificent emerald eyes taking in their visages, expressions and actions and analyzing them with subdued intensity. He wipes his expression clean again when the pastel stranger turns to his lowly self and speaks, his words friendly. Scion categorizes the smile as slightly forced, and ponders why this superior would bother to fake the grin, and quickly formulates a response that will please both of them, or so he hopes. It takes him a moment to decide what 'name' to call himself, as he has never had a proper title in all of his years, but decided on Scion without too much consideration. Foremost, it is so he remembers where he came from and why he needs to join this pack. More practically, he is used to being labeled as such, and responds to the dubbance automatically.

He straightens his frame back to an emotionless posture as he speaks. The stance highlights his lean but nonetheless developed musculature, revealing the downtrodden boy as the weapon that he was trained to be as he responds to the question in the direct address. His average sounding voice isfairly husky, as if he has not spoken in a while.

“My name is Scion, sirs.”

He shoots a quick glance at both of them after he speaks. The ivory hessian is more threatening, but the ebony male, Darcia, is the alpha and therefore it is slightly more important to please him. Scion finds himself slipping easily back into the mindset of a “scion” as he speaks with the two males. It is almost relaxing to give up his ill begotten freedom to this pack. He is reassured that he will never again be forced to make a choice that could potentially bring about the ruination of individuals. He knows it is cowardice, but also, to his loathing, he is aware that he is a coward. He is not fit to live freely. He must be controlled, both for his safety and the safety of others. He has been told this from the very beginning, but only recently had he come to the realization himself. He devotes himself, mind, body and soul, to Bright Moon at that moment, not because of any particular love for the place and what it stands for, but out of a desperation born of conditioning.