The growl that rumbles from within the chest of the half-tailed wolf earns her little more then a snarling hiss in reply, as if instinct alone demands he respond to the sound of her with the harsh tones of his own ravaged throat. She comes, moving from within the darkness as he has demanded, her form low and submissive and in this he is soothed as head and tail rise to be held above her- that dark form stiffened as the fleshy curtain of his lip pulls backward once more to reveal those whitened teeth that have seen the end of so many. There is a tense hold to the air, his own breath released in clouds of frigid smoke that rise within that darkened canopy of night as eyes of reptilian green stare with deadened focus upon the female whom has come forth and yet whom blocks the entrance to her den all the same. She is spared the cut and sting of his fangs if only for the scent of himself and Tick Tock that riddle her pelt, fooling his mind into the belief that she is his belonging- not for eating and as such the demons of his mind are fooled from their normal desire to pillage and purge and yet he will accept no defiance, entertain no ideas of her refusal of his desires. For she is nothing. Nothing. Spared only by her own health and the strength to the beat of her heart, for surely he will hear if it falters.

She threatens him, even as she submits, her form baring his path to the scent of youth and young blood that reeks like a siren call from the depths of her den. Yet another growl spills from her lips in the threat of violence as a far more savage rumble rises within his own, jaws parted to release a roar, an horrific shrieking sound unique to the Black Prince alone from the damage to his throat so long ago as he near roars it within her ears as he stands above her. A promise of violence if she will not be moved. His wretched mind will not allow weakness to exist within his pack and his lands, he will not allow it to flourish and breed for this is his purpose, for he alone is the Reaper of these lands will forever remain as such until the day of his own demise. Yet they do not see, these wolves, they do not perceive his purpose so divine as to rid the lands of those whom would weaken them with there befouled blood and instead they turn their hatred upon he….he who acts as no other, for no other is in possession of his courage in this, for no other shares his conviction. Is he not the hero? The one they will never celebrate but meet only with scorn? The one whom saves them from themselves even as they protest his existence? Another, final rumble rises within his chest like the threat of thunder before the crack of the lightning strike, a final, silent demand for the half-tailed female to remove herself from her den or he will do so.

He hungers tonight, his stomach clenches with the pains of his need to feed as the demons of his mind hiss and rattle and run claws against the inside of his skull until he is mad with it and those eyes of hell fire green fixate upon Nakato with a final and sinister desire. His lunge is sudden, jaws agape, seeking to bite into the flesh of Nakato’s ruff as that heavy form of blackened muscle seeks to haul backwards, to drag the Mother away from the entrance to her den. He is an aged creature now, he does not possess the raw power of his youth and yet still he stands as a beacon undefeated in battle- even by wolves far younger then he, far younger then Nakato herself and as such the force that resides within the creature remains potent still as he seeks to drag her from her place, to toss her aside for she is not his target today, a final hissing snarl launched towards her in a demand to stay down as those bloodied fangs bare towards her in warning. If this can be done he will simply release her before those darkened limbs stride forward and towards her den once more. He will not tolerate this female tonight and she will learn this lesson only once.