His mind had become overwhelmed with need. He needed to find her. Any part of her that was left. A hair. A foot print. Scent. Piss. Anything to assure him Zafira had been in Glorall and she had left the land alive. Better, which direction she had gone. Every passing moment and every failure stabbed him deeper, his fangs clenching tighter until his jaws ached. Through his distraction, he was not unaware of another wolf watching him. It was not the imposing threat of Thorne, but it was something similar. Residing in a pack that was not his own was maddening. Wolves that could be friends or could be traitors created a special taste of paranoia in the young wolf’s mind. For all his life so far, Blackthorne had kept him at a distance from others. Void of the companionship of others, Zharko struggled to know what it was like to be a part of something. So, when he was approached, his body was tense and ready for some sort of attack, be it physical or mental.

By stating his name, Zharko knew she had been sent to him and this was the one Blackthorne had told him about. Cooling his own aggression, the runt stepped forward with his own special ease and looked over the female before him. There was training, and there was training. He knew what Thorne wanted him to do with the girl. Beat her until she knew the true definition of pain. With his face scared and ear tattered to shreds, Zharko knew no amount of blood and violence could equal true torture. Still he would do what was asked within his abilities. You a quiet, and stealthy. He tilted his head at the beauty of her voice and the elegance of her body. These were weapons in themselves. Eyes narrowed and he studied her further. Try to disarm and attack me. The order smoothly, possibly giving a clue. It would be interesting to see how she acted, if she followed the violent teachings of Blackthorne, or if she would be creative in her own gifts and powers.