The Shadow is not far this day- never far, never- from She of Red and White.

He is restless of late, those instincts that demand protection of She and those whom are young can last only so long and he grows impatient. She does not allow him close, she drives at him with bloodied fangs until he spits back his discontent and refuses to share his meals on those nights in which he feels agitated by her. A couples spat perhaps, the sort of which will only grow in frequency as the Small Ones age and grow more independent. While they smell of milk they remain protected, their bodies filled with scent of She of Red and White and of he himself and as such his fangs are stayed. Yet once they begin to consume the meat, once they begin to carry the scent of nature and blood, tainted only faintly with his own odour he will no longer tolerate them in his presence. He is not driven by hormones as she, his actions dictated only by her own and for now he does not press upon her too strongly, for now he permits her to nurse the Small Ones, lingering as close as she will allow and in those nights in which she snarls at him more forcefully he seeks She of Dark Scars, holder of soul, finds place to rest beside her- for she is always close and she too has become his possession. He is determined to maintain both females, refuses to allow one or the other to be held by another. To Flare he returns at the break of each dawn, with Flare he hunts with at night, trails in her wake to consume what she does not kill or leaves behind portions of feed his own for her- for they are companions, not for eating, the manner in which they react and interact are set and assured. They move as fire and ash, sometimes joined by She of Dark Scars thogh never is She permitted near the den in which Flare resides, never, even Tobias will not allow it for instinct refuses, presses upon his mind, driving him to seek imprint only when Flare tires of him or what tattered remains of his soul seek desperately to cling to her and he finds peace in her company- sharing himself between both, for emotion holds no sway. He is made of instinct, of nature and no else.

She of Red and White had made a kill this night, the scent of blood thick and heady within the air, his own kill hanging from his lips, what remains of the twisted duck hung loosely between his lips- a rare meal indeed, for birds are swift upon the water, his own pelt sodden with wet and given to glow with droplets that cling to each obsidian hair. He is behind her some distance, each stride silent upon the earth of his darkened kingdom as he trails until her scent grows thick and intermingled with that of another, his own meal discarded against the side of a tree for later collection- for the promise of rich flesh is assured. The meat of pup was tender and rich, his tastes far more inclined to this as that tongue slides form his jaws to sweep across them in anticipation as he comes. A low rumble within his chest is sounded, announcing his presence as he presses upon her space, head and tail lifted in dominance, impressing upon her his rank and position above her, his determination to take her meal assured in each line of that toned, hard frame of ebony.

That she cleans and licks the child with tenderness is unnoticed, his ability to judge such actions a limited thing, lost within the caverns of his mind and the intricate carvings of his fractured mind. He believes she has captured it, believes she intends to consume it ad he will have his share. The child holds no scent of himself though it is….familiar to some extent, affording him perhaps a single moment of hesitation as what remains of his mind struggles to place this single scent before lips pull back from teeth and heckles bristle upward like dark knives. He snaps at her, a single strike of warning that he will not tolerate her having such a meal to herself before he lunges for the child now, aiming to grasp it by the scruff and tear it from her before pulling away, should he have manages to grasp its surely squealing form- determined to have it for himself.