The creature's lengthy run had provided him with adequate warmup, so even in the initial stages of his battle training he was able to move with an efficiency and grace. As time continued, Scion's movement became more calculated and precise, the slight fog that the last month's intermittent practice schedule had cast over his usually keen reflexes soon dissipating to leave nothing but smooth muscle memory behind as he ran through the drills. The rangy warrior had always excelled in the art of combat, and had been progressively moulded to enjoy the strenuous exercises necessary to maintain his high level of physical fitness and battle readiness. Therefore, an early manifestation of muscle fatigue – no doubt caused by his insufficient caloric intake and subsequent atrophy in his muscles – did little to deter him, but rather spurred him on by providing a physical reminder of his fall from grace. His expression sharpened somewhat, vibrant, poison-hued emeralds tightening into a soulless gaze as his consciousness retreated inward. He sped up his routine slightly, aiming not to damage himself permanently, but at the same time relishing the burning sensation that his quickened motions caused to spread through his limbs.

Life in Bright Moon hurt. It was everything he had ever wished for, given to him at the exact moment when he could never again enjoy it.

Scion's mind hadn't ceased to be a whirlwind of pain since he had committed the heinous act. The war-torn boy didn't like to think of his failure, but nevertheless continued to replay the incident, remembering the pain, the blood, and his cowardice as if it had all happened yesterday rather than moons ago. His tormented psyche had received only moments of relief from itself since he had sinned so irreparably. Those moments of peace had come on the borders of Bright Moon, when he had bared his throat and submitted to the lord of the land, Darcia. The lupine had been optimistic at that point, thinking that having a new master to serve would give him some semblance of peace in the form of penance, but so far life in Bright Moon had been too pleasant. That, and lonely. The two concepts mingled in a singular way, forming a deadly recipe for his own self destruction. The pleasantness hurt for two reasons: first, he was utterly unaccustomed to the freedom, peace and idleness that made up his new life, and second because the lack of externally inflicted abuse provided him with no means of punishment for his past actions. These factors created troubling thoughts, which the suffocating isolation served to exacerbate as he mulled over his self loathing without interruption.

Physically drowning would be much preferable to his current emotional state: he was figuratively drowning in the mess of his conflicting emotions, unable find the energy to raise his head above the waves of despair.

It was with a startling abruptness that the warrior was yanked from his agonizing reverie. Scion had been engrossed in his training and his terrible thoughts, and therefore had not sensed the incoming wolf's approach until he was quite close. It took a fair amount of effort for the lean boy to suppress his instinctive flinch when the other drew close. He ceased his movements respectfully, posture straightening to attention, as the wolf – Summer, he reminded himself, remembering their brief meeting when they had both gone to oversee the arrival of an icy she-wolf – began to speak. His emeralds flicked to Summer, assessing his body language. Finding a smile and gently wagging banner, Scion allowed himself to relax slightly.

Scion's ears, which had slanted slightly backwards as the Bright Moonian approached, flicked forward to catch his words. He digested the vocalization and made a reply, his voice matching his demeanour – polite and somewhat submissive, though not weak, for although submission was good (mandatory, really) Scion could never afford to show weakness. “It is quite alright, sir. I would much like the company.” The words were thought out carefully, chosen to placate the male, but even so the judas found that they were not lies. Scion was aware that he was slowly ripping himself to shreds from the inside, and welcomed anything to break the monotony, even if it was a protentially dangerous interaction with a ranked wolf. Summer seemed kind, but one never knew how superiors would chose to act. Scion inclined his crown in greeting after speaking and made sure to avoid gazing into the wolf's glittering tawny orbs. A lapse would not be tolerated.