Upon birth, nay, before birth, Natiya had known a comfort in following the movements of her sibling. It had been the precipice upon which she had agreed to follow him. Even when she had been born, her last first thing in this existence, she had shivered in anxiousness until the squalling cries of her brother had silenced her. Thus Natiya had saved her voice for it had been drowned beneath his own for so long and that is how she would always know it. Beneath him, behind him, out-shadowed, out-spoken. She acknowledged this placement in her own society and accepted it without qualms. There is a degree of completeness because of it. Never does she have to worry about where she fits in. It is always behind Blackthorne, following his lead. His orders, however harsh at times, were part of her existence. When new factors came in - like her father - she struggled to understand where she stood. For her placement with Blackthorne was changed as his own placement moved.

She had assumed that explanation would have the desired affect. This boy was confusing. His very sex demanded obedience and yet the very thing made her struggle. Thorne demanded she keep the meadow clear of intruders. In order to do that it put her in an odd position: fight or yield. If Enoch had been a girl this whole situation would have been simpler. She would have attacked. Even now her paws twitch into the ground, her eyes squinting and relaxing in her confusion and indecision. So she tries logic and he throws it back in her face.

Her ears pin back at his words. They are so assured that for a moment she almost believes him. But then she hears the sound and she snaps to attention. "It IS his," she says back, her voice firm. Unwavering. The next question causes no confusion, however, for she ignores the memory of Underidge pushing her brother into the ground. "Yes." Part of her does not understand the implications of such a declaration. That she had a King, they all did, but the idea of Eden is remote. She hadn't ever seen or met the wolf, only heard tell of him. Such words were scarce at any rate, the constant struggle of power between her brother and mother erasing any ease and discussions.

Suddenly she perks up at his words, clearly trying to decide if it is acceptable. "Oh," she begins at first, glancing around and making a slight hum/whine beneath her breath as she thinks. "I... that should be alright." Because to her, it was. But perhaps she had spoken too soon for the sound of movement, bold and loud, catches her attention.

Had there ever been a note of hesitance in Blackthorne? No. He had known from the second he was conceived that he wanted to be on top. On top of everything - the leader, the ruler, the executioner and judge. It is why he took to bossing around Natiya from the moment he was born, biting her when she took up his space, wrestling her down to the ground when she so much as snarled at him. He was bonded with her in a way that was untouchable, unshakeable, almost like the bond between his parents. Not that he would ever acknowledge such a bond.

Yet Underidge is the only wolf that had ever pushed him down and made him yield. For now. Part of Natiya's punishment for her meek behavior at the debacle was to guard the meadow. A boring task, making sure her area of movement was limited, and he had no worry that she would disobey. Nat never did.

Except as he bounds into the meadow with a line of blood across the top of his silver maw - courtesy of another injured rabbit - he spots a stalwart figure sitting in HIS meadow, next to HIS sister. A snarl is the first warning as he bounds closer, intending at first to slam into Enoch but instead angling himself towards Natiya. Why did she not LISTEN? As he draws closer she presses lower in the dirt, her own fangs showing despite her lack of movement. Indeed, the moment that he is finally atop her, she angles her head to the side to reveal her neck.

So he positions himself with one paw on either side of her back, his snarling muzzle an inch from her face and bared neck. It is a show of dominance - not really for Natiya, but for the boy that is watching it all. After a moment his snarls ease and his odd charcoal and silver eyes lift to stare hard at Enoch. "What are you doing here?"