The day was looking up. The morning mist had burned away and with it, the hunt had begun. His band of rebels had tucked away the three remaining children to be kept under lock and key. Guarded at all times with the express knowledge that if they tried to run, he would hobble them. A bite, a break, what did it matter so long as they could not do so again? Personally, he was quite sure they understood his intentions for the sinister smile had been met with wide eyes. Next it was time to root out the disease. Those who might have stayed behind with some good intentions, like saving a bunch of captured princesses or a wayward prince. He had warned them but noble wolves were always so... stupid.

Plentiful, beautiful, none of that truly mattered to the Darkbringer. The temptation had fallen into his lap and he had taken it, thanks to the clever musings of Kahina. So in one fell swoop he had given her the revenge she craved while gaining a pack. He demanded loyalty from his wolves but in return, he would prove that they were not forgotten. It did not mean he loved them. They were his closest companions and he trusted them almost implicitly - hadn't they proven themselves? He curated and cultivated that loyalty, plucked and pruned like a master gardener.

This whole time he had been working on his own pack and no one had been the wiser. It was brilliant that they should all come together now and he was rather fascinated by the waves when they struck together - who would collapse? Who would scream? Who would attack?

Power was such a heady thing.

All morning he had traveled the pack, from border to dens, though admittedly it was quite a large spot of land so he had not gotten overly far. One small wolf had stuck around and he had seen fit to chase the pissant off the land, satisfied until he caught movement in the distance. It was hard to discern through all the tumbling moss, vines, and leaning, gnarled trees that littered the place, weaving between full burns and muddy water. For that, he trots towards the wolf with ears half cocked back, tail high and one fang appearing in a twisted snarl of sorts.

Until he spies her: Caesura. His witchling girl. The fang does not disappear but the snarl turns into a smirk, one of fulfilled pride as he haughtily moves towards her, leaning in so that their noses touched where she sniffed so casually at a plant. "Ah, witchling, you have come. I was wondering if you heard my call."