Beltane was a fascinating creature, prone to visions and a sort of darkness herself. Thorne got the impression that she was bored with the mediocrity of the other packs. They had a tendency towards placating and being the quintessential 'good guys'. What a boring life that was. It is why she is here, he thinks, when she makes it rather obvious she is not quite entranced with the Darkbringer. Part of him felt riled at her scoffing laugh yet another part did not care because she WAS here and she would give him the secrets of the other side. It wasn't a matter of asking - he would tell her. Demand it, tear it, steal it if he must, but he didn't think he would need too. The glint in his silver and charcoal nacreous eyes was telling enough of his determination.

Aspis stiffens as the female comes closer, invading his space and sniffing along him, but even as his ears fall back and his red mane seems to flare around his neck, he remains still. Whoever she was, she was an important member of Thorne's pack and to attack her might incite anger from the Darkbringer, who watched all this with a sly half-smile. Then again, didn't the Darkbringer WANT him to lash out? His brow furrows, anger burning in him at the uncertainty there, the need to DO something but inability to figure out WHAT.

Suddenly she slides between them and Aspis side-steps quickly, shivering slightly at her touch, somewhat repulsed at her serpentine walk, oozing and sliding. Cajoling and creeping. Thorne merely flips his ears back and bares that single fang to her as a reminder not to try anything funny even though he allows the touch. Her words draw him in, eagerness dancing in his eyes. "Tell me what kind of shadow he will be, Silvertongue. Yours is the knowledge of the future and the soul." The last words are cajoling enough, heaping a sort of praise upon her that might soften the demand he had given.

Pick one, she demands, and Aspis flinches away from her with a glare. Once-prince, she says, and he can't help it. He bares his teeth, the words on his tongue dying like ash as he catches the indolent gaze of his master upon him. It is the words of Beltane that calm him a bit even though they had riled him as well. Peel it, she says, gently, she says, and yet his hunger is something fierce as he steps closer to them and gives her a suspicious look. Was this a trick?

He finds one. Mottled yellow with brown spots, a sunken spot on the left side, and with his mid-teeth begins to peel. It is messy and not so gentle, sudden bursting upon his tongue as he presses too hard and yolk slides out, the taste just there at the tip of his tongue. With a growl he steps back, letting the yolk soak into the ground and gnashing his teeth, fighting his desire to swallow it down as he glances at Beltane. "Fine, what now."