It is a madness that rages within him- yet the kind that does not afflict the mind. No. This madness is born from the soul, the tug and pull upon the leash that is his bond to another sees him rage and hiss and plunge bloodied fangs at the storm itself for he can find no other target and that vile thunder seeks to roar it’s disdain at him. It is a challenge to his ears, a defiance to his command for silence- mind incapable of realising that the weather itself will not bow to even the rage of the Black Prince as all others do. He is filled with her anger and his own, driven to a moment of crazed dissolution within the darkened night for he cannot separate mind and soul as others can. He can feel her heart beat it’s rapid dance within his chest until he is driven mad with it. He cannot understand, cannot be made to understand- this torment ravaging at him until his mind is fixated upon another- her scent a slicing through this veil of insanity until he is frozen with it and deadened eyes fixate upon her position. He can smell her, his Jaylah, for she has belonged to he from his earliest days and his mind has long since held obsession with her.
He merely watches as she lunges from the bushes in answer to his call, or so he believes, landing roughly atop the earth as rain begins to collide with the earth and ribbons of steam circle upwards as the heat of the earth is drawn outward and bathed in the nightly chill to surround the pair in a tainted mist as she snarls. His own heckles lift in response, lips pulled back once more from bloodied fangs in warning to her now. He will not tolerate her behaviour tonight, will not allow her to snarl and snap at him for he is assured of his own dominance, the power he had reached at the age of four when it became so he had finally grown enough in muscle and bulk and power to command her as he saw fit- for she had lost the ability to make him yield when he had taken upon this pedestal of growth. He is now past his prime perhaps, that strength and power beginning to steadily fade, to bleed out like the blood of prey upon the earth. Yet for now at least he clings to it still, for now at least those thickened cords of muscle bunch and coil at his command and a roar of defiance is released as she snarls and snaps at him in her feigned attacks as she spins and circles like a mewling pup in a game of chase and his vile mind rebels against this form of….play.
She speaks then, as his tail lashes and saliva flecks the earth from his parted jaws- her words a violent orchestra of disdain upon his broken mind as those demons cling and tear at the words in some effort to understand, to sort and place them, picking apart that which his mind may perceive. There is a silence in that moment, as his mind struggles and frustration marks his features, contempt for the vocals that collide with his mind evident in each line before a single word slides with a smooth masculinity between his lips.
“No.”
To what he answers ‘no’ remains to be seen, her desire to dance or her desire to murder him, the single word offered to hang within the air before each muscle coils once more his frame is lunged forward with a screeching roar of outrage that tears apart the silence of the night, jaws parting to seek purchase on her rough- to sink teeth into this thickened part of herself and….hold. He does not chew, does not seek to lacerate should his hold find true. He simply seeks to hold her still, nostrils flaring, inhaling seeking a scent upon her that seems to litter the scents of so many females. Yet….she lacks this scent of milk and offspring, some part of his mind- that which understands what he does not is…..displeased at this. She should hold the scent of milk- of motherhood, for she had been covered and by he no less.
A rumbling growl coils once more within his throat, whatever hold he may have found released as ears lace back within the ebony of his thickened pelt and another hiss is released to rattle from within that scared throat as he suddenly lunges once more- yet……this is not an attack, teeth snapping at her flanks, withdrawing only to lunge forward and snap again. He is driving her- or attempting to do so, the night air filled with the sound of howls and calls that echo and reek of chaos, the rise and fall of empires. For much has changed this night. The books to be re-written it would seem. For the Black Prince……is no more. In that single moment he has become King. The fields have fallen and the victory cry of another has risen. He knows what lands have been taken, for she had whispered them to him before She of Scars had gone and as such it is towards Asteraia he seeks to drive the unfortunate Fiam now. To his land. To his kingdom as he had once sought to drive Jaylah to Judila all those years ago, such actions repeated now, history repeated……for he knows whom he desires to keep with him, Fiam a favoured toy and one he will attempt now to possess more then he already does….