There was something so irritating about the constant rustling of cricket legs. Between the cicadas, crickets, and the thrumming of the toads, Blackthorne had grown restless. While summer thus far had been a rather mild thing, it seemed today that the sun pressed down with the intention to bake the swamps dry. He had moved further inland from his typical den area so that the once soft grasses of the moors grew sharp against his paw pads, the sun leeching them of water and sustenance. It was amusing, almost, to see the way the land withered as if they were being cursed by the fates. Yet Iromar did not lack in prey nor in anything for the moment. Other packs were being forced to hunt further afield to survive but his own pack endured here on the hearty meat of snakes, rats, and swamp deer.

Visitors came mostly because they wanted something but never really because they wanted to be here. It suited him that the rest of the world thought the swamp was a pungent place to be. He rather liked the scent of decay, rot, and regrowth. He fancied they hated it because it reminded them of their own mortality. So easy it was to die - one fang to puncture one vein. How poetic in a way.

The pups were growing fast, even with the limited supply of food, and he had given them leave to hunt in the vicinity of their allowed area while under observation. Aspis was improving daily, his demeanor growing more responsive to suggestion. It pleased the Darkbringer considering soon enough one would get brave enough to actually come for one, if not all, of the pups. So quickly these fools forgot the lessons he had given. But he was fine with that - impatient, perhaps, with the need to continue his work.

He had heard the call of Gazmala not too long ago and now he winds through the thick brush of the inner moorland to find her. The dark female has been up to some games but she had taken up firm root in Iromar as a loyalist and he would find out if she brought him any news worth such a thing. A rank, a title, something that would please her if she could please him. "Birdy, where have you set up roost?" He casts the words out on a suave tongue, charcoal eyes peering around as he pauses between two bramble bushes, thorns poking into his side, her scent nearby. "I heard a birdy calling recently. I wonder what news she brings," he says offhandedly, a sly smirk coiling at the edges of his lips.