The steady rain sluices across his dark fur. The extra tufts around his eyes drag down, giving him a permanently grouchy look, along with the long furs beneath his chin that drip down onto his dead hare. It’s body was fast growing cold but that didn’t matter. For now he was focused instead on the dreary visage of Iromar. It was a wetland most of the time anyways and in the distance, he fancies he can hear the hiss and snap of the alligators. He had been fascinated with them as a pup but had not had very long to investigate before his kidnapping and the subsequent time between re-capture, re-education, and re-visit of Molodian. Life seemed like a bunch of repeats but different each time.

It is folly to not pay attention to one’s surroundings. He had learned this from Blackthorne, despite how brazen his father appeared at times. Asserting dominance was one thing, following through with cautiousness was another. It is why he knows Avery approaches, having spied her dark figure from the corner of his pale silver-green eyes without turning his head. It does not bother him. From what he has gathered, there was little chance of attack in Iromar these days. It would be more likely in Astereaia, either by his own imprint or her not-so-likeable brother, though both for different reasons.

His left ear flicks sideways as she approaches, catching her words, though he doesn’t turn his head for a minute. ”It looks the same. Why is everything the same and different? How can that be? Those are opposites but they are the same, yet different too.” Both ears suddenly flatten as he bares his teeth at the land, his frustration in this concept abrupt, a madness slithering across his face for a brief time before quickly disappearing into an open expression as he finally turns his head towards Avery.

”Why are you the one ruling here? Is it because you are the oldest?” What made her an alphess? His eyes assess her in a clinical way. She was, indeed, old, but still healthy enough. He swings his head around, picking up the rabbit before thrusting his head sideways, tossing it in her direction. ”You can have it but it is probably cold by now.” No offer of reasoning. In the head of Nyteshade, everything made perfect sense, even if on the outside he was odd. ”Can you guess who my dad is?”