The Kingblade
male | 6 years | 40 inches | 165 pounds | casanova | lone wolf
Healed, healthy, and freed from the burden of Alphaship.
He knew what must be thought of him, but he cannot be bothered to care. He not only had taken the mountains, but he had held them. Held them and grew stagnant in the clutches of responsibility. He had been proud, and a little glad, that Tithe had stepped into his place and had been chosen by the people who were so admirable, so strong.
They adapted, they strove, no matter what there was to fear or hate or rise against.
He is chasing down a straying boar that had wandered out of the Tavioran forest. On his own, wild again, forgetting the tamed life atop the mountains that were supposed to be so vehement and wild themselves. His feet fly, his claws digging into the dirt, and then bam - they are out onto the Ruieze Fields and heading towards the water.
He knows the boar is tiring, knows that he has ran down it’s breath and energy. He knows that he is gaining and makes a lunge for the back of the beast’s neck -- and then the boar is spun in a whirl and he locks his jaws behind the creature’s head and he sees a reddish white growth now attached to the boar’s throat.
It’s gurgling squeal and thrashing hooves peeter out and he is left with a mouth gushed full of blood and meat and when he releases, it is with a triumphant guffaw and sputtering laughter. “Morrigan! You beautiful creature, you!” He leaves their meal for a moment and tackles her with playful, loud, snarling. He wrestles with her and then leaps away with a panting glee. “Pack life, it must suit you far better than me! Look at how great you look!”
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