So small and so young, but determined to never let that stand in his way, Bazyl followed his brother out of the den, after a hasty assurance from his parents. He knew they would not be far off. His father’s protective presence was constant as the heat of the summer had been. He did not fear the lands nor the chance to wander. In fact, it seemed as though the opportunity was encouraged.

Tongue poking out just a little, he wabbled after his brother, keeping up with him easily on their short and stubby legs. Once they had found the storytelling wolves, he flopped onto his brother to listen.

The words and the story scared him. A hunger that could not be fed struck a chord in the pup. He withdrew into himself with a soft whine. Something about it and something about him rang true. There was an emptiness within him he could not name. He had thought of talking to his father about it, or possibly his mother if he wanted a longer answer that was more questions, but this scared him into silence. What if he was like the Black Prince? What if that empty feeling was a hunger he needed to fill? Rolling off Thyme, he whimpered again, his voice high in his ears and fearful.

Crystalline iron eyes moved up to his brother when the darker of the two spoke. This brought more of a smile to his face! The Dark Prince defeated by the Jester King and his people! Those of the past and of old coming together to protect the world they knew! It was a fire in him! To come and be a part of something so great and so grand! How he would have loved to be a part of that rally! Bazyl perked up where his brother seemed to become scared. His golden tail wagged through the air. The ghosts and spirits of the warriors long past will still move through this lands! He claimed, running in a quick circle around his brother to look back up at Israfel. They will continue to protect the home they held dear! He grinned, the look holding a tone of being rueful, but still somehow carried a touch of his father’s reserve. Not all ghosts are scary!