Enigma's scent woven freshly through the forest did not surprise Kershov; his beta was as much a part of the military base as the frozen Czar himself, their signatures saturated with and sewn into their territory's atmosphere so intimately it was impossible to breathe one without the other. Warm fur and pine needles. Sweat and mud. Blood and . . . more blood, the rusty tang of battle blending with the savory taste of a fresh kill. Since the pack meeting, Kershov had been finding more and more recent trails left behind by his subjects as they marched about. A new purpose had suffused them with ferocious energy. The army had grown disturbingly quiet over a period when the feared Pharaoh had been struggling with his own destructive madness--but he'd shaken them awake. Other kingdoms would remember why the name Abendrot was whispered with apprehension throughout this pitifully peaceful land. Soon.

Yes, Enigma's enthralling perfume was to be expected . . . but the sugary scent of another unknown femme was not. Irritation tightened Ker's mutilated visage instantly. Ears swiveled forward in alert aggression and white war banner lashed the air behind him as he stalked toward the new signature's source. "You've got to be joking." Had someone blatantly overlooked the new markers laid across the border? She must have been new to this area, or perhaps just an idiot. Though no pups born within Abendrot's barracks had ever stooped to such juvenile behavior, the alabaster gangster knew that moronic dares between youngsters was quite common in other less disciplined packs. Something to do with "free spirits" or some different nonsense.

Lean limbs carried the moonlit demon effortlessly through the woods. Out of habit, the King concealed himself before immediately breaking into the fray, wanting to witness how his underling was handling the situation. Upon glimpsing Enigma and the stranger together, Kershov had to take a few seconds to full understand what his lonesome onyx orb was relaying to his brain. First off, the ignorant trespasser was not as infantile as the vicious Alpha had first assumed. With her slender frame and downy coat, the young lady looked as if she were balancing on the precipice between puphood and adulthood. Her demeanor, however, practically SCREAMED childish. The ivory warrior could see her silly hyper wiggling despite Enigma's more powerful physique blocking most of the show from view. Kershov wondered if perhaps the stupid creature possessed an unsound mind. If so, how would his faithful General deal with it? Intrusion usually meant certain death--and Ker personally saw no issues in executing the little gnat--but maybe Enigma might hold back her daggers in favor of--

Kershov had not laughed--truly laughed--in all his remembered life. But he came dangerously close to unleashing an odd build-up of sudden mirth when the pallid dingbat reached up to kiss Enigma's furious face. What?! This scene was simply too amusing to abandon. The massive monster hunched lower in his hunter's blind, singular obsidian optic glittering as he invented all the delightful ways his masked subject might punish her prisoner. Snap at her giggling muzzle? Break a paw? Sadly, Abendrot's formidable Beta did none of those things. Ker tilted his head in curiosity when Enigma released the ditzy faeling, asking a few blunt questions--one of which inquired to the lass's last meal. A scoff of disappointment fell softly from Kershov's teeth. Damn.

At that point, the glacial gladiator should have slithered off to complete a more constructive task . . . but he rarely stumbled upon the opportunity to watch his subalterns like this. The bone-colored beast found himself lurking ingeniously through protective clusters of underbrush to observe Enigma and Lenore, snowshoe paws utterly silent as they padded over mossy cushions of earth. So, the lady-bandit was treating the trespasser to a hunt, eh? What are you plotting, Beta mine?