Alpha or omega he was not.

He was nothing. It wasn’t his conscious choice to be nothing but when he thought about it, he hadn’t really ever thought to be something.

Nyteshade had spent the last two years of his life in the shadow cast by his father, taking his training in a rather stunted sort of stride. The boy was a mercurial creature, much like his parents, which was expected but disappointing for Blackthorne. So said his father. How was he to teach a son who did not listen? Who did not concentrate? Still, Nyteshade was not a loss. There was a keen intelligence in his eyes, a clever disposition if less in-your-face like his fathers. A certain maniacal slant to his two-fanged grin. If he wanted something the boy did whatever necessary to achieve it. Scream, fight, throw a tantrum, whatever it was.

He wasn’t here because he wanted something though. Or, not that he thought. Maybe he wanted to be something instead of being nothing yet what did nothing imply? It was a philosophical question he would mull over. Let the mind marinate and soon he might have a solution.

The darkness worked well with his fur as he lay on his belly, head up, silver-green eyes moving across the landscape. Mostly the outline in the distance for the moon was not present to offer a better view. He lay just over the edge of the border, staring within the plains. Blackthorne had told him that Sekhmet had been an ally of sorts. That if he wanted to learn more he might start there. Other than the knowledge of what was something and what was nothing, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to learn. Nyteshade was content in the small things – the taste of blood bursting across his tongue, the smell of a freshly downed fawn, the sound of panic before he completed the final kill.

What more was there?

She is not quiet but it is obvious she isn’t trying to be. She is here with purpose. He tilts his head to the side, a cold breeze fingering the long hairs beneath his chin, a curious look on his face. In spring he will be two but it is clear that she is fully grown. Much older than him and even older than his father. Perhaps she might have answers.

As she howls, he rises, moving towards her in a slumping sort of walk. He isn’t quiet either. There is grace there, every other step, yet it is as if Nyteshade is not yet comfortable in his body for his grace falters frequently and his moves become jackal-like, disjointed. ”Nothing or something?” The first words that fall from his lips are plucked from in his head with no content for the lady to understand their meaning. Still, he expects her to as he tilts his head, his brows appearing furrowed but nature had grown them in such a way that offered him a fierce look which clashed with his quizzical one.