Blackfeather Woods blood ran cold

In a way, Xan felt as if he’d been in a similar situation before. It was always the grey wolves. Every single time they appeared, the young Inuit was filled with a great sense of anger. Those who were lighter in colour weren’t usually too bad, but the darker grey lupines always seemed to know how to push his buttons. Burke was no exception to this theoretical rule, either. The second the child heard the word ‘pipsqueak’, his ears pushed forward and his glare intensified, a quiet growl vibrating within his throat. “SiutikKutujok,” the boy huffed, tone practically overflowing with conviction. Though he did not understand the full extent of what he’d said, he’d heard his father use it before. Recalling the situation in which he’d said it, and how he’d said it, lead the pale child to believe that it would work to convey what he wished to get across.
 
It took every ounce of his willpower to restrain himself from scoffing. He felt the younger was being treated unfairly—and he should know, all things considered. To be held accountable for the actions of one’s parents was, in simple terms, borderline moronic. Every living thing that is driven by a beating heart belongs to no one but themselves. They can be judged only for their own actions, and be viewed only on the stage they’ve set for themselves. To handle things in any other way, well… it was something Xan could describe as being nothing short of unreasonable. “I’ll look after him until his paw is healed,” Alexander stated, gaze still set into a hard glare. Of course, he didn’t know squat about how to use herbs, but he could at least catch food for him. Maybe even Nemesis could help, or at least he hoped he’d be able to convince her to. Whether she possessed any skills as a healer or not, he didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. Little did he know that the elder might not be the hugest fan of Lusa’s children.
 
“If you don’t like his parents,” the boy started, the wheels in his mind never ceasing to spin. “Then look at this as an opportunity to get back at them. They’ll probably think Leo was killed if they follow his trail to wherever he was attacked, but think of what would happen if he showed up once he’s older and completely loyal to Blackfeather—to you.” He paused, taking a moment to allow for his words to sink in. It was like he was telling one of his stories, but instead of tales of fantasy, it was a plot to harm wolves he did not even know. Not knowing them made it that much easier, however, because he would not feel remorse for a stranger. “That would hurt them emotionally or even mentally… right?” Emotional wounds. Something that only time could heal, and even then there was no guarantee a scar would not remain.