The journey that Thorne will take Caesura on would not be a sweet, nor kind one at times. While Blackthorne was full of charm and guile, there is also a side of him that was violent. Prone to stages of rancor. Forgiveness was an acceptable thing to him but punishment was a factor in such. One must always be punished for their disobedience. Still, he weaves his web with a silver tongue, forked though it might be, and she becomes lambent beneath it. Burning brightly for him, his lucent eyes focused solely upon her. With each meeting his claws sink deeper in her and he has no intention of letting go now. Possessiveness was a side effect of his attention.

It is somewhat refreshing to meet one such as her. He can see the adoration in her eyes, the way she seems almost bashful beneath his notice and still confident too. She is not brazen or outspoken like Kahina, full of recrimination and her own fluid fury. Yet how fascinating Caesura is, this witchling. Her words see his fanged grin again and he stands still close to her, inhaling her scent, visibly staking his own territory. "It would be a pity to have to go through them. For you, I would," he purrs in response, that wicked grin on his face seeming to enhance the predatory look about him.

There! That moment her eyes swirl up to his with the glaze of one caught in a trap, honeyed and baited. Something inside of his twitches, the urge to press himself against her, to mark her. His gums ache with the need to bite into her, to leave something permanent so others might know that she was one of his. Claiming - it was a desire that he had, same as power. His face softens at her words but it does nothing to diminish the villainous look in his eyes. "A boy in Iromar. Boneskull is the name. He is deaf. His sister wishes to teach him a lesson about reneging on family loyalty." That was partially true. Kahina hated the face that Boneskull followed Pine, but she hated the boy implicitly anyways. "From what I've gathered, he is a rather dull and dumb creature, not worthy anyways if he can't keep himself safe." He looks away now, drawing a bit out of her presence to keep her unsettled, eyes watching from the periphery to see if she sways towards him. Then he turns back to her, the tips of their noses brushing intentionally. "Not death, mind you, but... something to prove that he is not as invincible in the moors as he thinks. What do you think, my witchling? I should love to see your talents in action."