Pushign and testing. Those were the things that drove Blackthorne. Always he had pushed and prodded to find the very edge of sanity, the final grip to reality that bound those and it seemed as if he had finally found the edge of Sekhmets. Oh, it wasn't as if she was a sane wolf to begin with. Full of an ever burning, unbridled rage, she had always needed something to pursue. Some purpose to give meaning to that anger within her. It had led her to the doorstep of Asteraia once more where she had staked her claim and become the Pharaoh of these parts. Thorne wonders if it isn't what has kept her sane. The hold of an alpha is a powerful binding, the feel of earth beneath your paws that was your own. The way it split beneath ones claws and smelled of ownership and power.

The irascible nature of the Nameless One is present in these moments as she turns upon him, crowding into his space and seeking to snap at his face whilst spouting off some nonsensical words as if he should find purpose or meaning with them. The eyes that gaze out at him are no longer her own: was she possessed or is it her possession of rage that does this? His pernicious attitude does not disappear in these moments. It would be wise to step back and allow the Pharoah her time to rant and obviously warn him but Blackthorne was born from the pits of hell. He had come into this world a wildfire with the potential for torrential disruption and he had lacked the proper set up for it in a while.

His gauche attitude turns into something of demented ferocity as he stands and lashes out at her face with his claws. Her fury drives his blood lust, his fur standing on end as he tucks his head and jerks to the left, feeling her teeth scrape the edge of his jaw and take with it some fur. A snarl is given, ears back, even as her speech turned to the common one. Show you pain. Speak of my dead no more. A sneer crosses his face at the words. "Do not give me the words to speak of then," he hisses, not cowed by her. How many times in their history had they come together in such a furious cycle of brawn and violence and yet here they were, still allies of sorts. "Don't threaten me, Nameless One," he warns on a growl, staring her down, ready to fight if she attacks. "Get a hold of your rage lest you channel it in the wrong direction. There are greater things at play here than your pain or even mine." But could a beast so full of rage? Could she really be a reliable partner when she so easily turned on those around her?