I will humor him. I don't doubt for one moment that he will revel in the idea of being wanted by anybody let alone a wolf perceived as above him. That appears to be the nature of Underidge's child, Blackthorne. And so, I have called for him this morning though it is brief and hardly a summon - a suggestion, perhaps, to find me or be found. I will not spend unneeded time hunting through shadows for somebody I know will become curious enough in due time to seek me out one way or another. But nonetheless, it will make him feel powerful, no? I suppose I was like him once. Only, I was a faster learner.
I have thought much about what he claims to have done - hunting Aranck's children, killing one perhaps. I have paid little heed to it up until this point, not wishing to give him immediate reward or punishment for his actions. But I have thought of it nonetheless - his actions, after all, have served no purpose but his own. Did they bring Moteuh back? Did Aranck mourn? No, I do not think so. I do not think Aranck even thought of Blackthorne's victim's name the moment he died. So then why, I wonder, did the boy think himself deserving of a reward? I sneer at the thought but I continue moving. Today, I guess I am the prey.
I weave through the trees, the dry ground beneath crackling in the heat as the leaves turn to dust with each step; the river is low, the stones once submerged now glistening in the sun. I move along the borders that separate Diveen and Glorall; I move across the stones worn down and smooth from the river that used to run atop them. I slow for a moment, an ear twisting back ever so slightly as I feel the presence of another close by;