Rougaru does not miss when the heavily pregnant daughter of Solomon leaves the outskirts of the loosely gathered herd. He had not missed how the tension rising among the members of his herd had caused her to shift and shy as though she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the shadows of the jungle. She did her best to avoid his gaze and keep herself as camouflaged as possible into the background as though she hoped to keep attention drawn away from her. The wolf noticed.

In fact, she had come under his scrupulous gaze the moment Solomon made mention that she was his daughter. The fact that she now carried Annubis’ child was even more interesting. Though the silver buckskin stallion was his child of that he had no doubt, there was a sort of resentment that the wolf felt almost unable to control. Over the years, it managed to manifest itself between them, sitting firmly like a stone caught in his hoof. Annubis held a grudge against him, one that had grown and slowly manifested itself as the years passed. When he was just a yearling, it was Celestria’s death that the silver colt blamed on his sire. Little did he know or care to know that her death had burned a deep wound into Rougaru’s own soul and even looking at her son had been a harsh reminder that the loyal daughter of Warsaw was gone thanks to Shamwari and Jabari. Despite his best attempt, he found himself hardest on Annubis, his expectations higher and punishments more severe. He was not completely blind to the taunting that the sterling stallion received from his brothers after the incident during patrol when Annubis had shown the first signs of resistance. There was a small part of him that felt guilty, but over the years, he did his best to quell the voice and instead focus on the end results.

Secretly he envied Annubis’ choice in mates. The parti-colored mare was stunning in all intents and purposes and the wolf and Rougaru himself would have relished the idea of bending her beneath his own will or parading her about at his own shoulder. The fact that she obviously preferred his son was no secret and he found himself watching in mild fascination as the duo danced their battle of wills. A battle he was not unfamiliar with himself. As the months passed, he watched as the scent of estrus left her skin and slowly her lean form began to fill out with the womanly curves and contours that came with birthing foals. Like Vanya, it was clear that pregnancy was a discomfort, however unlike his newest drappa, the painted daughter of Solomon carried her condition in silence. For the most part, she stayed nearer to Annubis as the days grew closer to her delivery, no doubt drawing comfort from the familiarity of his nearness and the protection his presence provided. He can sense the tension building beneath her skin as the news of Faolain’s betrayal began to spread like wildfire. There were a few that bawlked at the idea of battling, his beloved Rae among them. He expected it of her and in truth never planned to allow her into harm’s way. The pale woman had suffered enough in her years and he would not dare see any other harm come her way. However he almost expected Solomon’s daughter to react the way she had. No doubt if she were able, she would have abandoned whatever loyalties or agreements that bound her to Annubis the moment her sire’s ally was mentioned and sought the comforts of home. That much he and the wolf were in agreement.

So he watches her from afar and waits for just the right moment.

And that moment had come.

When she slinks away into the shadowed abyss of the dense jungle, the chocolate stallion follows after her. He does not crowd her or nip at her heels as the wolf would have liked, but instead shuffles through the damp underbrush in her wake. Emerald eyes glint in the darkness as he registers the outline of her pale form on the earth. Paper thin nostrils flare in the still, humid air as the scent of fresh blood floods into his senses. The wolf growled. He keeps back, beyond the edge of her secluded nursery, a single fluted lobe tilting back and forward amid the cream and caramel colored tresses of his forelock at the sounds of her muffled voice sharp with pain. A wolfish grin slides across his lips as he tilts his head forward and speaks into the darkness. ”Daughter of Solomon. Daughter of a traitor…” he breathes, his thick baritones heavy in the shadows as the silence between them grows. ”And yet mate to my son. Tell me… have you heard the stories?” he asks, pausing a moment, ”The stories of your father’s betrayal?”, a sly grin plastering upon his lips as muscular haunches shuffle, settling easily into place. He had no intention of leaving.