Where had Mother been? While the rest of the world was awakening to the birdsong of Spring, Iromar fell into an eerie hush. On any other terms, eerie might be pleasantly accepted, but when it was do to a void at the head of the pack, it was deterring. That void, that emptiness, was like a vacuum, pulling life out of the lands and leaving them more desolate and bleak than ever before. And where was his father? Or his brothers, his older kin who were next in succession? To let this happen... it was unforgivable.

So it was left to Andras. At the very least, the Archduke had managed to step to his duty. Disappointed as he was with his own family, the young prince of Iromar couldn't help but feel that it was not so bad for the second leading family to take control. He knew little more about Andras than what praise his mother had made of him in speech, but that he was Lilith's mate and imprint gave the yearling small hope. Lilith he had experience with. Lilith was, in his eyes, the epitome of Demonic perfection... and he could so assume she expected no less from her family. So little for so much. All he could do was focus on his own path knowing there was naught else he could do about this very situation, infuriating and belittling as it may be. Such was life.

Stygian meant stealth. It meant power, skill, and will. At six months of age, Locke had already chosen his path in life. He knew what he was meant to be and had set out on his life's journey much earlier than most. Now, at a year old, his body did little to reflect his age. Despite his legs being all but stilts, they moved with a grace beyond their years. He was fluid and fast, large paws ever so light on the rocky terrain as he slipped from shadow to shadow in the morning light. The Susil Crags provided splendid cover, perfect for hiding from prey... or your brother.

Rome's gait gave just a hitch, his shoulders shifting to allow himself to look over his shoulder. It was enough, though. Lilith had taught him well to read projection and telegraphing. Locke shifted smoothly behind a sizable boulder, lean, muscular body all but melting into the fixture. Neither up nor downwind, it was rather unlikely for either boy to smell the other at such a distance. But Locke did not need to smell his bull of a brother to know when he could come out. He merely had to listen the the heavy drop of paws as Rome started down his path once more, thick thing that he was.

What a pleasant little game.

Don't turn your back.
Don't look away.
And don't blink.

. l o c k e