I cannot help but wonder who it is that he would take if I gave him the opportunity. Who else, I think, would fall short of his expectations? The fallen king, to be sure, yet we are unanimous on that belief. Someday, it will be all too easy to take him. Perhaps he is safe for now while he is capable of hiding beneath the shadow of a son yet, Eve is right. Everybody falls eventually. When such a time comes, it will not simply be Iromar's king that falls. Until then, I suppose we ought to start elsewhere. If Solaris is correct, there may be a new form of cancer laying dormant in Moladion.

There are few wolves that wear the expressions that Underidge does. They are cold and mercilous, a mirror of the acidity in my voice. My brow twitches up in response to his satisfaction, noting the fleeting moment that passes across his face; I am glad he will at least enjoy this. It must be done and he is the only one I can think of who will make Abel want it.

I, too, am satisfied with this. I allow my own lips to briefly pull up in a fanged grin; "When summer comes," I state matter of factly, my eyes turning to the sky momentarily, "so too shall the fires and the storms. We will know when it is the right time." After all, I know these... practices are not so openly embraced by others. We need darkness and smoke, distraction and confusion. It is an art, in a sense. Poetry. It ought to be appreciated and yet, good taste is few and far between.

But there is something else now. Somebody else. His father, he says. I can feel the tension that radiates off him - vehement and savage in its ferocity. I have not seen him in such a state before and I cannot help but feel my lips crack open in an amused grin. "They stole from you," I breathe, our breaths mingling. I speak simply and with a shrug, a nod to affirm; "This I understand. But there are other... opportunities." My eyes narrow for a moment before I begin again, my voice quieter now as I remember the maimed and scarred woman that had come to Glorall so long ago. "I picture my own father's face on those that seek to challenge me," it feels good to admit such a thing - I will not admit to him by name quite yet however - my shoulders rolling again as my muscles loosen, "one can relive and reimagine that moment over and over in such a way. At least, until there is something more fulfilling." There is a subtle inflection of a question as my head gently tilts; I wonder what he would consider a replacement, a substitute. Surely there is something. After all, I wish to... help him if he is, indeed, about to help me.