He is not a true teacher, perhaps, words do not pass his lips, nor does patience for instruction exist within that hellish creature as his form lowers to the earth within that blanket of growing darkness and his emerald eyes fixate with unblinking cold upon the form of the injured female wolf whom rests so unknowingly upon the borders of pack. The demons of his mind hiss and rumble in growing anticipation as hunger twists within his gut and draws saliva to his jaws in readiness for the meal he is assured he will have tonight. One darkened ear rotates backward, aware of his sons and yet he offers them little else by way of attention. They will either keep up or they will falter and his wretched mind has no time for those whom cannot keep pace, if his sons cannot help then they will not eat, instinct alone assuring him of this as his heckles raise upon his spine. He is aged now, perhaps, the darkness of his form once so absolute peppered with the grey of time though his mind cannot see it, cannot understand it nor allow thoughts of age to dictate his actions. He can no more perceive time then he can perceive the change of the season. Each day and night is continuous in a pattern he does not understand and perhaps in that fashion there is some mercy for such a creature. He does not understand his stiffened muscles or slower lunges, he cannot acknowledge the ache to his limbs in winter or why it is so those whom he pursues seem so much swifter then before. He understands only hunger, sees only weakness in others and in that fashion his mind fixates only upon the target before him as a rumbling growl rises between the bared teeth of his muzzle.
His lunge is sudden, blackened form torn from the darkness in mere moments, a lower, keening sound the only summons the children are offered in his command to follow as darkened claws slice at the earth and his hulking form is propelled forward and into the little female. She had been unprepared, resting, her bloodied foot only driving the creature to further madness in his utter desire to feed as the fleshy curtain of his lip pulls back from fangs to allow those daring knives to slice and cut into the flesh of her form. There is little sound to be had, little noise as he falls upon her. Her own retaliation surely comes too late, her teeth biting desperately into his shoulder and yet he has already seized her throat as they struggle for barely a moment and his head shakes with violent intent to rob the life from her. It is a decisive battle, one quick and swift as her fangs fall slack from his shoulder and his own jaws release his prize to the earth, letting go of her throat as ribbons of pinkish saliva fall from his jaws and he moves to the softer underside of dead wolfess to the parts of her he desires more.
Lonhro moves only to mimic his sibling, seeking to take confidence from Singe alone as his mind already understands that there is weakness in insecurity, that he cannot allow Father to see these things within himself as his tall, long, gangly form moves to shift closer to Singe and mimic they way in which both his Father and brother lay lowered. He does not understand fully the intent that has been conveyed- there is insanity in his mind, or so they say, his own emerald gaze flicking wildly from one to the other. The wolfess before them is not pack, this he knows, this he understands, just as he understands such creatures must surely be punished and yet surely it is not as food that he recognises her until the moment in which Father lunges forward and Lonhro moves to follow as nature itself dictates.
Long limb extended forward, the tall yearling plunging forward behind his sire, green eyes searching briefly for Brother Singe before the jaws of Tobias seek to slam down upon the throat of the reclining female. The sounds are soft, subtle, yet he hears the gasping of breath and the snarling of her own defiance as she twists and kicks and her own teeth spear into the shoulder of Father and it is perhaps in that moment that some greater urge is sparked within the young wolf. There is a desire of sorts to…protect…..Tobias is his own Father and indeed while surely the bond between them is hardly one of loving care Lonhro understands this need of blood for blood. Mother had always been protective of all that was her own and perhaps Lonhro is of a similar mind, his own heckles lifting to bristle as a childish hiss is spat from his jaws and he lunges suddenly forward to seize the left hind leg of the female, biting down as Tobias does, shaking his head wildly to exact his punishment upon her as small teeth cut and tear- before all is silent.
His own teeth let go, chest heaving with the effort as he steps back from the fallen female, eyes wide with this discovery of her death. He had not….anticipated, perhaps, that she would die. He understands death, sort of, he remembers the learning of it with Singe and yet he has truly seen little by way of it, never seen the life of another wolf taken, her eyes staring and vacant, her chest refusing to rise as Tobias moves towards the centre of it, tearing it open to revel…..meat….food and his mind begins to reel at this discovery, understanding beginning to dawn as his gaze is drawn to the leg he himself had bitten and the faint taste of blood upon his lips before those emerald eyes return to Brother Singe.
“It…..is dead….and it….is made of…..meat.”
He waits, momentarily as he stands now, tongue lolling forward and chest heaving still from the effort of his exertion, his discovery announced to Singe as he waits for his brothers acknowledgement perhaps. Of all within this world it is Brother Singe he loves best and it is his thoughts he seeks now as Tobias begins to eat, the boy lingering behind, unsure as to whether or not he dare approach in request for food.