Dripping Daggers

At the voice of the new company, Slade cast a look to his left, taking in the sight of the younger, though bodily matured man. The sleek yet powdery sheen of his thick ivory coat, and the position of his highly held banner, but it was not higher than that of the stunning Alphess.
Second in command, maybe, his conscious snaped to his attention. With a confirmational nod, the dark king agreed, his deep octaves slipping effortlessly to the pale warrior.

"I agree. The permanent permeation of perpetual shadow. The feel of unkind and uncaring stares. The death, it is a beautiful land of despair."

With a fire encircled gaze, the black wolf stood, and dipped his head to the snow sheathed lupine.

"I am Slade. New to BlackFeather. And hopefully, if pleasing to the Mistress, permanent. "