It is with little sense of purpose that the Angel wanders this day, his handsome, youthful features contorted into a look of momentary confusion as those eyes of beautiful blue and molten gold dance across the field before him in evident search of…something. In all his six years of live he has never once taken a day off, to be granted such a thing, by her Highness Isola no less, had left the boy wandering for much of the day. Without a border patrol, without a Demon Hunt, without new recruits to take under his wing or battle training to commence the towering young male is left at a loss for how best to spend his time. He had grown in his Father’s image perhaps, so wholly dedicated to his work that family, even the prospect of considering starting his own and finding a suitable female, had been pushed near entirely from his mind. He is dedicated to his battle training, to becoming the apex of perfection within the manner of the warrior, determined to be the most exceptional guardian to Achilles when it is he takes the throne and as such has become used to a series of daily tasks that occupy both mind and body. To have a day off is…ridiculous. What he is supposed to do with his time remains to be seen and upon Andromeda’s request that perhaps he take a walk the young male had set himself the task of walking from one end of Moladion to the other for no other reason than to fulfil his exercise needs and maintain his fitness.

It is perhaps this dedication that has allowed the male to be the truly exceptional specimen that he is. At six years of age he is within the very prime of his existence, his exceptionally tall, ebony frame decorated with toned, evenly spaced muscle that allows this balance between speed and power that his blood is so very infamous for creating- along with the perfection of features for which his own personal line is known, any descended from Heyel seeming to bare his brand of beauty. Yet he is….unconventional perhaps within his own markings, different from his cousins and siblings and extended family, the boy in possession of a midnight pelt, marked with russet red upon all four limbs, his tail and ear tips, a sprinkling of white across one eye the single contribution of his sire, Azrael, save for the blue of his gaze. For so long he had been kept within Diveen as a child, forbidden to even linger near the borders lest any wolf mistake him for anything save the Angel he was and yet over time the boy had grown so substantially that he had taken it upon himself to guard the borders he had once hidden behind. Each step is smooth and light upon the earth, a graceful dance of ready ease, each movement lithe and quiet as he approaches a small stream, stepping lightly over it, red marked limbs aglow within the dappled light as he lands, twigs snapping beneath his paws as a quiet voice suddenly sees him halted.

It is the familiar latin lilt that sees his handsome head lifted, ears held forward as the blue gold of his gaze searches for what he believes to be a family member. After all, when it is his own sire finally retires it is he, Guardian, that plans most surely to take over the role of family protector, whom plans to guard the bloodline as his sire before him, a rank and position for which he was named upon birth and as such all family is of interest to him, even if he has long lost track of his extensions in this regard. His eyes fall at last upon the snowy creature, marked so similarly to a number of his cousins, his own long limbs reaching forward to step from within the shadows of the trees and reveal himself before the deep, smooth, baritone of his voice escapes his muzzle.

“Quare nisi me Cousin.”
(It is only me Cousin.)

He simply believes her to be as such, after all, he is in possession of so very man cousins, spread all across Moladion that he has long stopped attempting to remember names, having learned to identify his family by look and scent alone and yet, as he simply moves to wander closer it becomes entirely apparent that she is not of Diveen, her pelt free of any Pack Mark and for a moment the blue-eyed boy is given to pause, head tilted slightly as he speaks one more, his voice, when not given to speak within the latina, a language to which he has mastered perfectly is rather….different. The Common Tongue never was his strong suit, those lazy, easy tones little more then a drawl now.

“Naww, y’all ‘ave ta forgive me eh? I thought ya was one of meh cousins, we all be lookin’ like dat. S’alright though, reckon it’s nice ta meet ya anyway and dun worry I ain’t no Demon wolf though I be lookin’ like it. Me Pa just got imprinted with a black wolf, that’s me Ma and me brother and I came out with her colour but his marks. I got some white, on me eye though. Imma Guardian, from Diveen, da Angel City. You related ta anyone dare?.”

He offers a grin now, lazy and easy as always that lights up each feature upon his finally formed features, tail waving slightly behind as he moves to seat himself slightly to the side of her, offering her space all the same lest she take offense to a male so much larger then herself approaching.