Ever since his release from Taviora, and coming into the age of two, Zharko had been prowling the freelands, finding dens here and there. Even with his wandering spirit, whenever Blackthorne needed him, he would be found. At times it seemed as if the other pup did not even need to call to or try to find the pale male. Zharko would just appear at his commander’s side as if it were his rightful and born place. At the times they fought, he proved himself to Thorne, both in showing he would not take true abuse, that he was strong, and that he followed Blackthorne willingly and loyally. Today, it was quietly by his side as they travelled to Spirane.

Along their trails, Zharko laid eyes on Blackthorne’s sister and he felt his insides twist, a catch in his breath. His own sister was still missing to him. A fact he did not release lightly. Unknown to anyone, the times Zharko was alone he traversed anywhere he could in hopes of finding some clue to where Zafira would be. In the shadows of silence, deep in his dens, he mourned alone. Tears would fall down the scars of the left side of his face. His tattered ears would be drawn back against his pain and sorrow, trying to fight the feelings that gripped him. With every passing sunrise and sunset he failed her even more.

Unused to interacting with the wolves around him, the traditional party was more of a ‘rumor’ than anything to him. But once Thorne seemed to confirm the suspicions, moreso with the appearance of Natiya sparked his hope and gave him breath. As they approached the party, his breathing quickened. His heart pounded in his chest. Nothing but a widening of deep red eyes expressed this change on his face. Blackthorne could not know the other reason he was here. Forcing his body to relax, he looked at each pup in turn, his nose twitching and intaking everything. He needed her to be here. He needed her to know he had never left her and he would never leave her again.