There is little sense of wonder from the boy on the issue of the elements. He recognizes a sense of eldritch power that encircles the earth. It would do as it pleased without interference from any mortal body. That made life all the more challenging and somewhat exciting. Would a hurricane drift in from offshore and send their tiny figures flying into the air like rag dolls? Would lightning strike the trees and set forth a frenzy of fire that would decimate them?

Winter was known to be a wolf killer but even if it hadn't been, there were plenty of other things to kill them. The taste of Zuelika's blood still remains in his mouth to this day, his dreams oft taking him back to that moment when Zharko grew into his role as beserker and Blackthorne gnawed on the dying girl with glee. The rush of power - he had consumed her energy into his own frenzied one and it had left him feeling electric as of late.

The gulls rise in unison, screeches of defiance rending the air, but the only recognition he gives them is the slight turn of his round ears for his eyes are firmly upon the lean figure of Escha. She is silver and oddly reminiscent of his own sister. Her growl is met with a flashing of charcoal eyes, the dip in them turning them black and the rise flashing into silver, an odd play on light. One lip rises slowly to reveal the tip of a curved fang, a dominant reaction to her growl, and his tail stiffens but he does not back down.

He has tasted blood. He knows power. He exudes it; he would not back down from a girl, let alone anyone. Who her parents are means nothing. It is only what she can do and who she is.

But he notes the way her head falls even as her tail rises, the instinctive care in which she moves, and feels an approving hum in the back of his throat. Her words are met with a sudden, menacing grin that reveals all his teeth in a macabre smile not unlike the ones his father has given him.

"I know nothing of fear, for I fear nothing."

Bold words and yet he backs them up with his sprawled stand, his natural poise, eyes flicking down at her lowered head with a sly tilt to them.

"You keep yourself away. What a waste, too," he croons, suddenly looking disinterested. As he aged he began to understand a more subtle approach to loosening the tongues of other. Some needed brute force, some needed cleverness, some needed disparaging remarks. He has her tagged as the one that might need to push and yet, now that she has seen him, how could she not be interested in what he offers?

"Show me. Show them. Show us all what you can do. What you are willing to do."

Suddenly his voice dips into a hiss of demand, taking one step closer, daring and challenging. What he is challenging her for, he does not know - she can fight him certainly if she wishes, for the adrenaline is like an addiction to him. Or she can answer in whatever fashion suits her.

In the end, he would have her or hell would freeze over.