Zharko sat patiently while Grimoire met with each of the others in turn. As they all piled in and out of their meeting places, he watched each of them with a silent stare. Peering out of a scarred face, his ears pulled back, the young boy could be a curiosity to be sure. Still too young to have mastered a void expression, it was apparent he was thinking something, but what that something could be was kept a secret.

As each of the other mercenaries piled in and out of his ‘mother’s’ shadows he could not help but feel a twist of concern. These were wolves who had already declared themselves traitors for hire. Any bribe, any payment, could be doubled by another. He would not know what she was offering them, but he thought he could at least stand by her side to protect her from the inevitable backstabbing. So long as he was not ordered differently by another. The boy took a deep breath as his time started to near. It would be interesting to see what she would offer him.

When she beckoned him, he followed just as silently. Obedience was something he was good at. In the shadows he continued to watch her with his usual intensity. He took in her movements, her claws along the stone floor, her hummed contemplation. Tattered ear flicked once at her words, his scarred head tilting to the side in his own thought process.

Her first question went honestly unanswered. Having never experienced what a mother would or would not do, he could only tell stories he was sure were fables. It was her second question that made him smirk. No. He had a ‘home’. Or a placement, really. Through his life he had learned how to live wherever he was, or follow Blackthorne’s orders and reside where the ebony boy commanded him to. In order to fulfill his true desires, Zharko needed and enjoyed the freedom to move about with no standing loyalty to one land or another. For a moment though, the quiet strength in his face fell when he thought. Grimoire had never hurt him like Blackthorne had. Though her mind was twisted, there was a sense in there that was different from Thorne, a twist Zharko was willing to take a chance to trust. Protection. He answered, his eyes downcast, his voice holding a strange note of desperation. I want my sister Zafira and my Imprint, Wren, to be safe from Blackthorne. He could live and die for himself, but he was determined to ensure his will was written for them. In the case he could not stand to protect them he wanted to know they would continue to be safe from Thorne’s viciousness even after his death. I don’t care what happens to me.