Thorne had been a busy boy the last few seasons. Planning for the future took careful precision and he had become a rather gifted storyteller in his head. A masterful liar and a silent spy. Oh how he hoarded one secret, waiting for the moment to whisper it into the right ear so that the maximum amount of chaos would ensue. For now, he kept it tight to his breast, much as he did all his secrets save a few. Keep all the pieces separate until the right moment. An idea had begun to form over the last season, one that made him grow more vibrant as the days grew longer.

He sits beneath the shade of one of Glorall's beech trees, its sprawling limbs cast about above him. His silver muzzle points to the roaring waves near the beach which is why he spots her, his sister. Once Underidge had tried to put them all together for lessons but it became clear rather quickly that there was little tolerance between son and father so the silver male had taken to ignoring his two bastard pups. More's the pity, thinks Thorne. He did not care for the crazy male and Natiya was HIS, so it was good that their father took no interest in her either.

But Matianak.. she was different. Umbra had already gotten on his dark side, the dark girl having drawn a clear line in the sand between them. She was an enemy and would be treated thusly. Mat was... a wild card. Which is why he now trails her at a distance, his lean body fit and muscular from constant power struggles with Zharko. A slash across his face is healing, almsot gone, but still remains for the moment as a prize token. His ears flick forward, silver cowlick between them, as he catches her manic words.

"I do hope you haven't taken to talking to thin air, sister. It would be a shame if our father has infected you with his madness." His tones are silky, smooth, a throwback to his grandfather that is unknown to them all.