He does not understand her fascination, cannot comprehend the beauty she believes she sees upon the blackened beast that is his sire and her grandsire in turn. Lonhro understands only instinct in this, understands what has been ingrained within him since the beginning of his memory. Forever he has been kept from Father, forever Mother has stood between Brother and he and Father, refusing to allow him near as those eyes of emerald hunger. She drives him away over and over and in time Lonhro had learned to mimic these actions, to display power before him, to roar defiance at him before lowering in submission, a message perhaps not clear to others and yet one the black pelted boy had come to understand well. Submission soothed Father, yet the moments of defiance prior displayed strength, power, an unwillingness to allow him to act without fight and as such the message was clear to the minds of those whom comprehend such things. Do not do what you intend, I dislike it - you are above me, I accept that, but I will fight if you continue to act. A complicated message perhaps, a delicate balance of behaviour, a dance between give and take and yet Lonhro has mastered these things, has come to understand when it is time to defy and when it is time to submit- though perhaps in time these things will change. For fate has blessed the son of Tobias in other ways. He will be a near flawless copy of his sire in look and movement and yet- one improved further, taller, heavier, his mind engineered in another way entirely though still given to act upon instinct and primal need- for thoughts hold little place within his scattered skull.

Kairos speaks and those black ears prick forward atop his skull. He understands words, understands they are a form of communication yet his vocabulary is not near so advanced as to perceive the meaning of them all. He cannot understand her fully, listening instead to tone, to the occasional word he knows in an attempt to perceive her meaning as he frowns, eyes flicking from Father to Friend and back again before those exquisite eyes of emerald rest upon her once more.

“No….not touch……no touch.”

His warning is clear, dark head shaking now, one eye forever trained upon the blackened beast whom waits like death itself for Kairos to part from his company and fall into waiting jaws. He simply lays, simply stares, unmoving, unblinking, near unbreathing it would seem and Lonhro understands this hunt, understands this game and is violent intent for he has seen it before. Yet Friend will not listen. It is her final words however, that so seem to gather response from the child, head lifted suddenly, tail risen in much the same manner in what is the beginnings of….dominance, for the son of Tobias will possess such a thing in time- in perhaps dangerous amounts, as he stands beside her now and she calls him afraid. A word he knows, a word his broken mind understands.

“Not afraid.”

This is spoken without stutter, with conviction, a darkened whisper upon dark lips as emerald eyes narrow upon her now in what appears to be a challenge of sorts, baby growl coiling within his throat to hiss towards her as he moves suddenly to seat himself. He will not go to Father, yet he will no longer attempt to stop her. He has tried, he has offered and yet it would seem his ability to care has ceased to exist. If she will dare defy him, he, Lonhro- the Prince of Asteraia and heir of Tobias himself then perhaps she will instigate her own doom.

“Then…die.”

It is all he offers as she approaches further, head turned away from her in childish, petulant displeasure as she creeps forward and forward still and Lonhro merely looks on.

………………………………………

The emerald gaze of that hellish nightmare fixates wholly upon this small one of white and red, his mind brought to near feverish delight at the scents that emanate from her heated form and promise a sweetened meal of juvenile flesh and warmed blood. His loathing for Elijah and Alyx runs deeply, neither son deemed suitable to his mind as it would seem perhaps Lonhro and Singe have been afforded this chance at life by the sheer will of their mother to see them thrive. Her pelt is cloyed with the scent of him, Elijah, mingled with the scent of another he knows and yet Stella has long been accepted in his mind as one not to be eaten and perhaps this alone had assured his hesitation in his assault and provided Lonhro that chance to defy him for the girl child is becoming of many scents that conflict his twisted mind and offer signals the demons within are loath to obey and yet remains forced by the laws of nature themselves to offer their hated subservience. He waits, like a viper in repose, saliva pooling readily within his jaws for the anticipation of the meal he is assured will be his own. Lonhro is ignored, that small one of no meaning to him, unable to be consumed until the day the milk scent no longer protects him and She of Red and White no longer throws herself between them to prevent his jaws bringing end to his young flesh.

The Black Prince is driven to breed each winter as he has done once more, driven by instinctive need and yet such is the madness of his mind that he seeks to consume and ravage his creations, to destroy his own legacy one by one and while Seir has fallen- Elijah and Alyx defy him still, Lonhro and Singe protected. Riven alone had been accepted. A female- of no threat to him and as such in this he is content. Yet this one holds other scents.

Her small form brushes up against the dark one, yet those eyes of reptilian cold hold against her still, hungering for a meal that brings itself so willing to his jaws, a sacrifice perhaps, to that darkened lord as he waits in silent anticipation. Yet….her scent has altered once more, her pelt holding the taint of milk, of Flare, of Lonhro…..that which angered him diminished now as hesitation afflicts him once more and his fractured mind struggles to perceive what knowledge it receives now. Frustration tugs at him, features contorted into a snarl all the same as she lowers herself, ears folded backwards before him in a manner that soothes him- if only slightly and yet his mind remains conflicted, undecided, curios and yet frustrated as suddenly he rises. That dark Angel of impending death towers above her now, a shadow on obsidian wings as his muzzle lowers and each muscle holds tense as he inhales her scent once more, drawing it into his nasal cavity with force to pick apart the scents upon it. His head is lowered again, lowered to her now, seeking the scents that had so driven his madness and hunger before and yet finding them lacking, her submissive pose perhaps soothing his rage though it is tentative still- the moment tense.

For the barest of moments that deadened, vacant gaze meets her own, a rush of air parting his lips in a rumbling growl that blows against her red, white and black fur like a blessing of heated air. He is…frustrated, his meal seemingly denied as he turns abruptly from her now with a hiss of dissatisfaction. He offers no words, offers nothing but her life this day- though perhaps she will not be spared again as he turns to wander back across that field he calls his own. Death itself- seeking another victim to turn the hourglass upon. Kairos spared today- by the scent of Lonhro upon her and little else as that darkened form of perfection glides silently back into the darkened embrace of the waiting shadows to disappear as silently as he had come.