Day by day he gained a bit more freedom. Archana struggled with the fact that they were limited in their movements even if the Darkbringer gave them more room now as they grew older. It had only been one season but they were shooting up like twigs, their bodies demanding constant nourishment, and since they were only given one meal a day, he was given leave to hunt. It was some special sort of punishment or reward - he wasn't quite certain. Blackthorne told him that he had a certain area to work with and that was it. A few times the Darkbringer had taken him aside, ignoring the girls in favor of turning his attention upon Aspis, a certain odd glint in those charcoal eyes, and proceeded to lecture, scold, and demand perfection from the boy. It was embarrassing, infuriating, and enlivening all at the same time.

He hated Blackthorne. Yet as the days passed, he came to expect and even somewhat look forward to those times away from the girls. If only because it meant that he was growing closer in favor with the Darkbringer and thus would be able to better care for them. Even if the traitorous part of him recognized that those weren't the ONLY reasons.

He had begun to respect him. It made him sick to his stomach at times when he found himself watching Blackthorne the way that the other wolves did, with a fervor and hunger, a need to prove oneself. He tried to hide it lest Whisper and Archana realize and turn against him. Yet on the days when he wasn't given leave to stretch his legs or occupy his mind with whatever odd task the Darkbringer gave him, he felt a burning anger simmering in him, a need to be destructive.

Having watched the way Adrian interacted with Blackthorne had set a bad taste in his mouth. The girl obviously was there to protect them and he was fairly certain that Blackthorne was right - she was lying. But even if he, deep down, had begun to desire currying the favor to Blackthorne, he would not nor could not turn against one who so obviously wanted to help his sister and friend. He didn't deserve help. Did he really even need it?

Go, Blackthorne had said. Hunt. So that is what he was doing. Each day Blackthorne tasked him with finding a baby alligator, killing it, and bringing it back. Each day, Aspis failed. Until he got it right he was allowed only to bring one extra animal back to share so whenever he failed his daily task he would try to hunt the largest he could find which usually ended up being a swamp rat, if he was lucky. An plump one if he was extra lucky. His body was growing swiftly, stout and stocky like his grandmother, along with a raging appetite that also led to his violent mood outbursts.

The baby alligator had been another failure and, covered in swamp mud, twigs, and other bracken, he finds himself padding slowly in the direction of his sister and Whisper, ears pressed back and a scowl on his face. Pawsteps cause him to spin, teeth flashing moments before he catches sight of Adrian, mouth full of not one but TWO muskrats. Emerald eyes widen as his snarl fades, face falling back to a sort of disapproving stoic face that had begun to set permanently there. But he doesn't say anything, unsure what even to say, merely watching her.