Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

posting as twin requested to go after akavir

He was correct—the titles meant little to the Alpha of a small claim at a creek—spare that hereditary princes could be fickle creatures when plotting the demise of the one upon a throne… eager for their own chance to rule. Or, so it had been at the Empire in the mountains.

He blinked—the barest hint of a smirk not missed from the erpa-ha when Wren flashed the man a smile and downed the berries in a fell swoop. Relief only grazed at his nape when the man plucked one of his own and consumed—not laced with poison, then.

At the request to hear of who they sought, the shadow runner smoothed himself to a gentle seat—poised, still, and yet his muzzle tipping lower to offer the titled wolf his respect and understanding of where he sat—within quarters that were not his own. “My daughter. Lilitu.” He tried to remain impassive—forward and stoical—but there was a tick in his pulse, the churn of his gut.


Where was his girl?