Scion was, for lack of a better and more dignified word, lurking about the territory of Bright Moon. He was still confused about the whole pack thing, and by extension, feeling vulnerable and a bit dim. The alpha, Summer, had given him the rank of Iota at the last pack meeting, a position he shared with the dark-furred, cat-eyed male Danger. There had been ranks in his old pack, of course, but those ranks were never appointed to those of his clan. It was understood implicitly and occasionally stated explicitly that traitors and the offspring of traitors were not fit for even the rank of the lowest Omega. Scion was slave, and the best that a slave could hope for was a somewhat honourable duty, enough food to eat and to avoid the notice of his superiors. He had failed rather spectacularly on that front, having failed his sole duty, getting his equals and his superiors killed, and then fleeing the scene like the spineless, instinct driven, lower life form he had been always told that he was. After mulling over his situation, he had come to Bright Moon, determined to serve for the rest of his life for two reasons: foremost, for penance, and secondly, to prevent his bloody high-minded ideas from getting anyone else killed. He had affirmed, through experience, what his superiors had taught him his entire life: members of his bloodline were too dangerous to allow even the illusion of freedom.

One impediment to his plan was that the wolves of Bright Moon seemed unnervingly nice. For a wolf who had never been offered any real, no strings attached kindness before, it was disturbing to say the least. For a while, he had allowed the coddling, thinking it would only be a matter of time before the treatment changed, but since the dispositions of his pack-mates had showed signs of permanence, the warrior had come to the realization that he would have no choice but to tell his story to the new king. An explanation of his situation had been something he wished to avoid at all costs, but it seemed like there was no other option at this point. It simply would not due for his sire to do something as foolish as award a rank to a wolf better suited to the position of bait. He cursed his selfishness in withholding the information until now, thinking about how disappointed Lord Summer would be, but nonetheless felt a bit better upon reaching a conclusion. He would have to be a creature even worse than his dishonoured status indicated if he allowed the wolves of Bright Moon to unintentionally treat him as a citizen.

Thoughts spent, Scion ceased his lurking in favor of other, more useful activities. He had done a full border patrol yesterday, reinforcing the sense of activity about the walls of Bright Moon, and felt it unnecessary to patrol again until nightfall. Rather, he turned his iron-hued form down another path. About a week ago, the boy had discovered a series of small offerings, mostly hares, left within the pack lands, smelling always of the same female. The cache was not meagre, but it did not have a huge excess of prey, so Scion had taken to dropping his own offerings off at the shrine as well, sometimes at the expense of a meal if the hunting had not been good that day. Had Scion thought of it more deeply, he may have feared retribution from the ess whose idea he had so ungraciously stolen. Scion was not used to taking the initiative in such things, however, so he was too caught up in the cleverness of the idea to consider that he had angered a superior.

He had just set off in search of a delicate morsel of prey when a feminine screech was captured by his constantly alert auditives. He was upwind to the scene, and hence could smell neither the lady nor what had frightened her, but that did not stop the war dog from turning about on his haunches and loping toward the sound. If a member of Bright Moon pack was in trouble, it was his duty to lay his life on the line to protect them. That, at the very least, was a constant that applied to both his old and new lives.

It did not take long for the wolf to arrive near the scene. The fickle wind had switched course half way, allowing a scent-tinged breeze to skate across his olfactory system. One of the three musks borne by the wind was unknown to him, while the others he recognized, if only slightly. One as the pungent odour of the Abendrot border, and the other, sole female perfume, was unmistakably the faerie who he had stolen the idea of leaving offerings from. He did not hesitate, slipping quite quietly through the summertime foliage and into view of all three parties.

Scion's stance was a blank slate as he stepped out from betwixt the trees, vermillion eyes surveying the two outsiders with tactical efficiency. One was, as his nares had indicated, undoubtedly the alpha of Abendrot, while the other, judging by scent, as an underling of his. They both looked powerful – if they attacked, Scion judged that it was highly unlikely that he could take them both down, although he was assured that he could definitely hold them off long enough for the slim fea to get help. Their stances, however, reassured him slightly. Neither the massive, bone white alpha nor his subordinate seemed immediately aggressive. After ensuring that the intruders did not serve an immediate threat, his emerald gaze darted toward a patch of underbrush from which a series of small, breathy whines were emerging. He kept one tulip and at least half of his attention primed on the two while scouring the underbrush with the other errant half, noting at last the barest sliver of a pallid form between the leaves.

Putting the facts together, the soldier judged the situation. No borders had been breached, the fea was unharmed, merely scared, and one of the wolves in question was an alpha. The Abendrot wolves had no doubt come to the borders for a purpose when they had startled the Bright Moonian, who seemed to be having a kind of panic attack. He would have to be respectful and damage control until Lord Summer himself arrived to formally deal with the duo. The first step was to greet the party, then excuse himself momentarily to defuse the panicked she-wolf. Hopefully Summer would arrive by that point.

Despite his cautious nature, Scion was exceedingly good at thinking on his feet. Within moments, his course of action was decided upon, at which point he acted. He dipped his head respectfully, but not submissively to the alpha before speaking, his voice cool.

“The ruler of Abendrot and a subordinate of Abendrot, I presume? Please forgive my pack-mate – you seem to have startled her. King Summer should be here shortly to meet with you. In the meantime, if you would please excuse me, I will explain the situation to my pack-mate.”

He nodded once more before edging away, toward the walled palace that the lady had chosen to sequester herself within. Paranoia kept his attentions from fixating entirely on the femme, but nonetheless he found this mission taking up most of his focus. Despite being a soldier first, he had some experience dealing with irrational young women due to his experience as a body-guard. He approached the tangle of leaves slowly, one pawstep at a time. When he neared the place, he spoke much more gently than he had on the borders, his voice low enough that his individual words would be indistinguishable to the wolves at the border, the tone his usual, somewhat unique blend of confidence and submission.

“My lady, please calm down. I will not allow you to come to harm.”

Hopefully that promise would be enough to make her stop making those frightened sounds, if not for his own sake (the sound of a scared young she wolf did wonders for stirring up flashbacks) then for the sake of the decorum of the pack. Scion hoped that Summer would not be too angry about this travesty of a royal greeting, as he did not want to be in his sire's bad books when the came time to confess his deceit.