Reaver had weighed and measured the two whelps, testing them and finding that he did not wish them dead. It had brought about no fatherly instincts in him, no familial bond or devoted affection. But he had accepted their existence, and found them not to be weak or feeble. They were not the first children of his loins - the white woman had brought pups before him for testing long before Enya had even been in the picture. She, of course, would have had no knowledge of this, or the desire and need to test those born of him because of the litters that had come before. And yet it was, and so it had been, and the yearlings had unknowingly earned a pardon or sorts from their sire. When winter had come again, Enya had sought him out rather than hiding from him as she had the year prior. Their copulation was never more than that - the notion of love-making was non-existent. It was a carnal need that they satiated, furthering their bloodline and ensuring pups would come of it in spring. And then, she had disappeared again.

As the winter wore, on Reaver began to search for her. Winter storms delayed him, even a monstrous beast such as he forced to take shelter from the freezing rain and ice that fell from the sky. He had not found her in any of the place he'd found her before. But in one such place he finally found her scent, and tracked it back to the borders of a pack. The heady stench of an alpha's scent made his lips curl back and his nose wrinkle with distaste. Packs held a dozen negative connotations for him, stemming from his very birth. For the first time in a long time, the puppy face of his brother, Elijah, flashed in his mind. His jaws snapped at the fog of his own breath before him, chasing the memory away. Shaking his head, Reaver pushed forward, crossing the boundary and following the trail along the edge of the pack lands.

As her scent became more prevalent, another mingled with it. Reaver's hackles bristled as he lowered his head to the snow, following a second set of paw prints that had come from another direction. When the two wolves came into sight, Reaver did not hesitate to contemplate what might be happening between them. He did not listen for words. Such were not the acts of a feral beast such as he. Instead, he registered bristled hackles and snapping jaws on the part of Enya. And the drive of the hunt welled up within him. He picked up the pace, running across the distance to the two wolves. There was no doubt that Ravenna would see him coming as she jerked back and away from her volatile sister. But that didn't matter.

Her momentary confusion over Enya's reaction to her presence was his gain. Whether she ran or stood her ground, fought or cowered before him, his body lunged towards hers. He sought to bury his fangs into the meat of her shoulder, driving her to the side and down into the snow. Once she was there he planted his forelegs and gave his head a might shake, rending flesh from bone and decimating the entire area of her shoulder. Blood spouted from the wound, flecking his face with hunter's paint. He released, bringing his head back and then striking again - almost like a snake. But this time he went for her throat, silencing whatever cries or snarls she may have made. He was unrelenting, tearing into her as the snow surrounding her quickly soaked up the blood. Whether she was dead or not, Reaver looked up at Enya from where he chewed into her sister, lifting his head and licking his lips. His tail swung out behind him, invigorated by the act of the kill, even without the true thrill of the hunt. He then shifted, opening up a place for Enya to dine alongside him, unaware of just who he had killed this day, nor did he care what repercussions doing so within the confines of a pack might have for his chosen...mate.