I suppose that at my age I should have settled down and figured out what I wanted to focus on. You know, what kind of pack career I might want – hunter, joker, warrior, etc. The truth was as a pup I had envisioned a life of adventure. It would have been an epic life that I led, one where I was the king of the world, or maybe just King of Diveen. Sometimes I fondly – and embarrassingly – remember when I offered Azariah myself as her mate just because she was pretty and I was sure I would make a good king. It was a good thing that had never worked out because the older I grew, the more indecisive I became. My family had begun to separate piece by piece and I was left dangling and alone.

Once I might have been a joker. I had been playful and so freaking naïve that I wanted to smack my old self. The memories often tormented late at night of the fateful trip with my father. That had been an adventure – me and Enderly traveling around Molodian and venturing outwards. He had a difficult time keeping up with my youthful exuberance back then. I remember his grumpiness often, with fondness tinged by sadness.

That night had shattered my innocence. I had never located my half-brother or my niece, the ones who had killed my father in front of me. Time had eased the pain but I was haunted always by the coldness of her words, the raspiness of my brother’s. I had learned about loss and hatred then but also about a family tree I never knew existed. It had expanded too after I met Loki and I had felt a sense of confusion because I realized that I never really knew Enderly. I never really would now.

It had been years and I was older, though I hadn’t grown particularly large. A runt as a pup and a runt as an adult. Slim figure, long legs, chiseled features. I was handsome, I suppose, and sometimes I likened myself to my father, though my long legs was a trait from my mother Celeste. My off-black fur tapers down my legs into dark obsidian and my silver-blue eyes are a throwback to my father, though I have a scar across my left eye from that night.

My reflection stares back up at me from the still water caused by runoff from the grotto. I don’t often traipse around the caverns and even now, I shy from entering them. The dark was not a place I enjoyed being but I knew that some creatures did. Some even called themselves wolves, but I knew they were really demons in disguise. The truth was, I knew I couldn’t hold my own against many wolves due to my slight stature and I liked to think I was smart enough to avoid being put in such a situation anyways. I crouch over the shallow basin next to the curve of the craggy wall, trees off to my left creaking and swaying in the random gusts of wind, ears flicking back and forth until I hear a crack that jolts my head up. I sniff the air but the scents are too muddled from the wind, foliage rot, and moisture to make heads or tails, so I crouch stiffly and stare around, waiting for the presence to make itself known.

(Also, Celeste is his mother which I am pretty sure she is related to Ambrosia!)