Another growl rumbles low and deep within his throat, nostrils flaring to inhale the scents of the newborns over and over, his mind seeming only further confused by those odours that linger within the dark. He can scent their youth, their newness and the blood of their birth only driving his fevered hunger forward and yet his scent lingers upon them too, along with She of Scars, confusing his mind, protection and hunger intertwining to twist and roll within his mind until only frustrated confusion stirs within and a single word is forced form his lips though it holds question all the same. Darkened ears lifted forward, listening as she speaks those his emerald gaze remains fixated upon the pups that mewl and cry at her side and stir saliva to his jowls in anticipation of the heated, tender flesh he knows they possess. She moves then, shifts, as no other female has ever done, stepping back and away from the pups until she stands behind them as if she offers their tender youth to his jaws so willingly and heckles lift along his spine- prepared for his imprints assault upon him as all before her, his mind remembering the manner in which he had been driven year after year and even now his teeth bare towards her in threat, small though it is as he slides closer and closer still to the mewling pups and She of Scars reaches her muzzle forward to his own.
The scents of the children cling to her, pressed to his own muzzle as she reaches for him, uncertainty lingering still as hissing, rumbling growls continue to roll and coil within his chest. He cannot perceive emotions, not truly, is left instead with little more then agitation and anger at himself, frustration at this inability as indecision and the war of insanity and instinct twists with savagery within it. It is fortunate perhaps, that in this moment at least his instinct to protect is stronger then his need to feed, the scents of his offspring held so close upon her muzzle, mingled with her own odour seeming to fool his wretched mind into this belief- if only for now as he stands before his son and daughter, towering above and over them like a darkened shadow.
“Mine.”
He simply repeats the word on rasping breaths, tail flicking lightly as those unholy eyes glow in violent green within the gloom and saliva leaks still form his jaws as if he dances upon the very precipice of decision, as if he is but moments from changing his mind entirely and burrowing his fangs within their flesh- halted only by She of Scars and her words, her scent lacing them- for Flare had taught him readily to respect a Mother in the wake of birth. She speaks again then, her words meaningless, lost upon him, a flow and sway of sounds and little more though indeed the slow manner in which they are offered allows him a moment perhaps, to seize upon them more readily in some hint of curiosity. The sound of his name sees his ears prick forward once more, though whether in understanding or simply a learned response cannot be said. That she desires that he name there son is met with little more then a blank look, unable to perceive what she asks of him. He understands name, to some extent, knows of his own calling and a select few others that had seemed to fixate within his mind over the years. He remains silent, seeming to have no desire to speak as those deadened eyes merely stare with emotionless ease into the gloom of the den and the children that rest before him. The mention of Nevermore seems to sway him little, though the word is repeated.
“Nevermore.”
Whether he will remember it or not can hardly be said, he merely repeats the sound back towards her, rasping from his throat before falling into that same silence, tongue licking at his lips as if his thoughts linger still upon the tender flesh he has been denied.
“Gunnnnnnnsd.”
It is little more than a bizarre sound, or seemingly so, spoken on a rumbling growl all the same as his gaze rotates to rest upon his imprint once more.
“Gunnnnnns-ynd.”
It simply repeats it again, though whether it is truly a name or merely a passing sound he has taken amusement in cannot be said- his conversation down for now, it would seem, as his form lowers itself down, deadened eyes fixated upon the children still, watching them within the gloom.