He had stayed close after seeing her in the crags, and he awoke to that feeling of her being gone. Gone in a way that does not belong. Gone in a way that he feared. He knew Iromar would come after her, and he was trying to stay close to hopefully prevent such a thing...but in his gut he felt she was taken. He felt a wave of panic and anxiety attach onto his heart like a blood sucking tick. He got to his feet, feeling the dread of the situation...but...what if he was wrong? What if he was just having a bad dream? It was so hard to tell right now. Was this real? Maybe he was feeling the panic over nothing. Maybe she just went off on her own.

He shook his head and paced for a moment. He lifted his left paw and bit it. No, this is not a dream. He thinks the pain is too real to be a dream, but is this dread and panic real? Regardless, he began running towards Taviora. It was a mad dash and he did not go into the pack- just got close enough that his howl would be heard by hopefully a few wolves there. Howls can indeed travel far. He knew he could not get Taviora in trouble for what he feels he has to do. It tore him up to ripped him apart to take the time to ensure his howl got to Taviora- but he was not about to start a war. This was his issue. This was his imprint. Even if she is not what he would have guessed, he had to do what he had to do.

He made his mad dash back towards the crags, where he made a jump into a river and took a quick minute to roll in some mud and grass- to remove the scent of Taviora from his pelt. It was then that it all started to get excruciating. The panic and dread turned into what seemed to be pain- pain that then brought forth an anger that could make him burst into flames hotter than the sun itself. He snarled as he reared back, bolting straight for Iromar which is now close by.

Fury was a word much too soft. Rage is a word much too kind. Perhaps there is not a word that adequately describes what boils inside of him. He runs like a ferocious beast as he feels the pain of the bond. He knew it now, as it was much too strong in this moment to be anything else. Iromar had her and Iromar brings her pain. Iromar had not changed, not since the day of the Demons. It was cursed with death and pain. There was a beauty in how history repeats itself. Azrael had stormed to Iromar when they strole his soul Andromeda, then pregnant with Starfall and Guardian. Now, he does the very same...but for a soul fitting in a very different way than his parents did.

He stops at a gathering of trees that reek of Iromar. He remembers Iromar well. Even though he was not an assassin like his father, he knew better than to not familiarize himself with the pack he lived in. He was here when he lived with Raven, and he studied the place well over time, yet he seemed to be blinded by the bond glowing hot. His opal eyes took a moment to focus as he spun around, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. He knew it was Iromar but where was she? He began running again along the border, the blood of Azrael running like burning coals thick in his veins. What would his father had done? He knew he would have never stopped. Surprisingly, Starfall did not vocalize despite the excruciating feeling in his gut. The only noise his made was from his run, and he ran and ran until it came upon him so suddenly...the image of three wolves, one holding the other and dragging while the other continued an attack.

It was Arace.

His fur was flared up and his teeth immediately became exposed. They seethed of wickedness and evil. He felt the overwhelming and crushing urge to free Arace from their torturous grasp. He did not slow his run. The Angel of Stars set his hysteria upon the male- his own opal eyes wide and fixated. His aura was one of almost pure insanity as he barrels to the male with absolutely no regard for himself. He felt the heat of his own body but it was nothing compared to the ire of seeing the torturer of his imprint. He comes in directly perpendicular to the male’s right side- as his attack aims directly for the male’s right eye.

”DROP HER, SUPMAE,” he bellows, ending in Latin as snaps for the male’s eye, but it mattered not if he hit his target. To whatever he may hit, he will ferociously shake his head like an absolute madman. He will not stop his onslaught until he drops Arace. A wolf cannot protect himself nor be quick with dragging a wolf in their mouth. The male would likely suffer great wounds he if did not drop her and fight back, or back off, as Starfall would continue to snap viciously at whatever flesh comes near his jaws- be it the male’s muzzle, throat, leg- it didn’t matter. The other girl would be next if she didn’t get the picture that this beast of a wolf would attack without hesitation if provoked- and that he was not in any state of mind or ability to be reasoned with.

Heaven hath no fury like an Angel’s imprint’s bond.