The young wolf liked to think of himself as a reasonable creature. Hell, were it his mother that Parvati had ‘claimed’, the ice princess might not have been able to stand on her own afterward. His father… well the old wolf was cunning enough that he might have used his silver tongue to change the turn of tides but either way, neither of his parents would have come quietly. He had.

He had told himself he was doing it for the child he had sired. He had stared into those bright innocent eyes of the little foal and felt a surging desire to protect and guard as he had never before. He had watched her grow from a gangly, spindly legged child into a graceful mare. In one foul swoop, Parvati had robbed him of that joy and pride. He felt both disgust and hatred when he thought of the mare he had once felt acceptance towards.

Speak of the devil, the familiar bugle that rises over the sound of indignant ravens. Twin harks flex amid the wind tangled mass of cream and white mane as he ponders whether to answer her summons or not. He was within his right, at least in his mind, to ignore her and merely continue lazing his afternoon away. He had pointedly avoided patrolling the borders of the Inlet as of late. However he was curious as to the outcome of the little battle that had dropped once more on Parvati’s shoulders. By sheer luck, he had happened upon the mare’s firstborn and her newborn child on the beach and successfully managed to thwart the Lagoon intruder’s attempt to steal the girl away. Once. But the beast had returned again and this time, it was Parvati who had answered the challenge. Had she won? Lost? Was she injured? Oh he hoped she was, she deserved it.

Curiosity won out, (that and he was growing rather bored with lounging around all day). Slowly, he traces the familiar path of the worn path beneath the pines where he had spent his morning scratching the itches his own teeth could not manage to reach. Parvati is not hard to find, her bright gold and cream form has always stood out the most in the summer and fall months of Tinuvel before the snows begin to settle on the exposed meadows of the island. Golden yellow eyes trace the curves and contours of her frame as he makes his lazy approach. Even from the distance, he takes note of the careful placement of her foreleg and the fresh scrapes and cuts along her shoulder and barrel. A soft snort escapes his whiskered nostrils as he turns his gaze towards the small herd gathered loosely in the meadow but there is no sign of Devi or her child. It was not hard to deduce that Parvati had not been victorious this time.

He gives his mahogany and white skin a quick shake and closes the remaining gap between them, pausing a short distance from her with a suspicious glare lingering in his feral gaze. ”You need something?” he asks icily, his thick tail switching against his flanks in unspoken annoyance.