It is only as the other male moves to follow that the blackened hellion turns in place himself, long limbs extended forward to carry his ebony frame atop the earth and towards his new destination. He walks with single minded purpose, gaze fixated ahead, his path entirely straight until it is a tree or boulder presents itself before him and for a few moments he is forced to stop. His head tilts, turns, as if he finds himself curious of that which has blocked his path, as if he cannot fathom it’s appearance before him and is loath to move around it and break the straight line he has formed. His mind fixates so readily, seizes upon patterns, delights in that which is repeated for his mind finds no struggle in maintaining a routine, in performing a task that is the same each and every time and as such he shuns that which is new, different, outside his ability to understand or that of his fractured mind to facilitate. His movements, his reactions, the manner in which his mind finds frustration in situations he does not know have remain unchanged since his pup-hood. He had been capable of learning then, in his younger days and formative years and yet even then his learning had been slow, fixative, that which is learned forever retained until it would seem he had simply reached his limit on such things- no longer capable of formulating new responses and yet…..Aaliyah had tried.

She alone had tried, taught, listened- helped him to fathom what he could not despite her families grave concerns. For he was the son of Jaidah and Demitri- a child born of Alphas of two different lands, the grandson of Alphas on both sides, an heir entitled to much and yet the bloodlines of Jaidah were forever cursed, her name infamous with destruction and madness, the Killer Queen- for the assassination of her own mother to take the throne of Judila so many years ago. A bloodline much tainted and bloodline much despise by those of Aaliyah’s family- for Angels value purity above all else, Angels- led by Heyel, the one they call the greatest of Kings, the King of Moladion itself for none have ever matched his power upon the throne nor have any disappointed him near so much as his daughter Aaliyah surely did when she refused her own position as heir- forfeiting her right to the Angel empire, an empire that still exists today, to live in the loner lands with the blackened son of Jaidah, to defend him from those whom hunted him for so many crimes. Yet perhaps it was he whom had broken her trust, for he cannot be tamed any more the he can be contained, the children born to her- their children……a target for his hunger, his determination to destroy them so fierce she had been forced to return to the only ones whom could protect her and their infant sons, the only ones Tobias had ever feared for their gleaming white pelts tipped in red. Angels have forever blocked his path. Angels took her from him- Heyel’s fangs the only fangs that have ever managed to grab his throat, the scars so clear still and from that day his words had faded, what little ability to reason he had developed became lost. He simply became the animal once more- with none to guide him- what he had managed to learn slipping further and further away until it was no more then a memory of what he had once been.

To see this rare glimpse of ability is a truly astounding thing, his mind fixated upon Tithe now, the younger black male seeming to be afforded this….moment of calm, though why cannot be said as Tobias simply leads onward until the borders of Asteraia are reached- the pack of the fields, so rich in prey and land, expanding in every direction. A new pack, a young pack and yet his own scent laces the borders so thickly that surely the other will not hesitate to understand to whom these lands bow down. Darkened paws press further forward, pressing into the lands, assured Tithe will continue to follow until that obsidian creature reaches the centre of the nearest field, the scent of others, of pack, billowing amongst the grass now as he sits, simply sits and emerald eyes roll to his companion a final time. All within this pack are his possessions, this belief alone sparing them from his fangs- affording them his protection over his retribution against a world he does not understand.

“Pack. Mine.”

He simply waits, expectant of an answer it would seem- else of some reaction from the other until one ear turns upon his skull- aware that another comes, though he offers no reaction. Simply waits.