Ira had been stalking patrolling along the borders, performing warden-like duties, figuring that maybe he should approach Jinx on picking it up as one of his apprenticeships since he was a recruiter and they sort of went hand in hand in a way, but had been a little too consumed with his blooming romance thing with Bones to focus on apprenticeships. Of course her stretch of absence left Ira with a lot of free time on his paws. He supposed he could have made it a point to get to better know the other members of Silvertip - and he would, he told himself, eventually. For now he was contented with eavesdropping and spying on them like the devil Princeling he was. He had entertained the idea, suggested by Jinx, of making him into an assassin and he worked on honing his patience and stealth, his ability to move quickly and near silently along the ridged and rocky slope of their towering cathedral of a home as it stretched towards the heavens.

Leg had just lifted to enforce the border with his own scent when Lecter let out a call, amplified, Ira assumed, by the cavern; it was a call for Ira himself. Leg lowered and sigh left the Princeling’s lips as he wondered why on the earth the Shaman was calling for him, and contemplated for a few moments on ignoring it and claiming that he had been out recruiting. What if it’s important? What if something happened to Jinx? Though Ira knew that Lecter did not care for him at all (it was quite mutual), the Shaman (loathe as Ira was to admit it) did seem to genuinely care about Jinx.

Not really wanting to hear a potential lecture about ignoring the summons of a wolf of higher rank than him Ira begrudgingly made his way to the caverns, following Lecter’s scent easily when he came across their mouth. “Yes?” The Princeling inquired to his stepfather the Shaman when his crystalline eyes fell upon the other’s form.

Ira snuffled, sniffling once at the rank scent that he had, in a manner that the juvenile found slightly horrific, had became desensitized too. It lingered, even now, never fully going away no matter how used to it the Princeling was, but it wasn’t as ‘knock-you-on-your-feet’ as it had been the first couple of times Ira had been forced to endure it. The words that spilled forth from Lecter’s lips were …not what Ira had expected - though he had not been sure why the Shaman had called him there in the first place. Enmity …Lecter was tired of the enmity they shared towards one another? Ira spared the Gamma a suspicious look for a few seconds hindering on belief and disbelief. There was nothing that openly suggested that those words had been a lie, and yet Ira was dubious all the same; the consideration that they were sincere left Ira with the question what had changed Lecter’s mind? Lecter’s following words made a little bit of sense to Ira and the Princeling wondered if that was why Lecter was suddenly changing his mind about their tentative relationship. Because he was - as everyone did little bit by little bit - dying.

“You would challenge it while you still live, though?” Ira asked the Shaman, crystalline blue eyes searching the cold, frozen blue eyes of Jinx’s mate. In Ira’s opinion, it was not something Lecter had any right to do (even if it was a wrong opinion) because Ira had been Jinx’s son before Lecter had been her mate. Ira snorted at Lecter’s spot-on assessment of Ira’s personality, of which Jinx had not bothered (for her own reasons, surely) to correct him upon and so it had solidified during Ira’s impressionable age. He was less likely to be convinced of things, now. He could decide for himself, “Join the club,” Indeed Lecter was not the first one to say those things to him - Ira’s mind flashed to Jace who had called him a demon spawn or something like that - and they hardly bothered the Princeling.

“So if we’re destroying the enmity between us what do you suggest takes its place?” Because something had too, surely; it wasn’t as if they had grown fond of one another or anything like that. Without the enmity Ira had felt to the Shaman there was …nothing.

Ira felt a small measure of surprise when Lecter admitted that he would not challenge Ira if Jinx decided to claim him as her heir — though she had never publicly considered Ira such he already considered himself her son even if Jinx, herself, didn’t — but nodded his understanding to the Shaman, for once, not sure what to say because there was not smart mouthed comeback to leer to Lecter. That was something that was happening too much lately and Ira wondered if he was losing his sharp edge; it was something he hoped he wasn’t losing as it had been his defense for so long. Was, more or less, his only defense. Without it Ira was just another little boy and frankly, the insolent creature hated the vulnerable little boy inside him, cocooned in pain and sorrow, caged in by fire, ice, and razor like wit that Ira had came to nurture and favor. Ira had no intentions of protesting if Jinx called to Lecter to lead with her. He was too young, first of all, and secondly, there was much for him to learn yet. Ira was not so arrogant and deluded as to not accept that.

Nothing, the Shaman had purred to Ira’s question. Nothing. The insolent Princeling was relieved to know that Lecter’s apparent left over feelings when the enmity was stripped away like a contract between two devils burned to ashes carried onto the wind mirrored Ira’s own. Nothing was a hollow thing, a strange concept to grasp but it was what Ira himself felt. Nothing. The more he thought the word, the less sense it began to make until the word almost didn’t exist at all, before he focused back on what Lecter was saying to him. “Good, we’re on the same page then,” Ira piped up with a cheeky little grin before he turned serious once more, figuring it was better, perhaps, to not invoke Lecter’s ire so soon after they had reached their mutual nothingness. Ira’s ears lowered to rest at half mast atop his skull, tail twitching at Lecter’s warning, proving that for all his smarted quips Ira was taking Lecter seriously.

Brow furrowed as nostrils flared as Ira contemplated Lecter’s following offer. An offer. To teach Ira what the Shaman knew? “Wait what?” There was nothing quite like the humiliation of metaphorically having your legs knocked out from under you landing on your behind blinking up in winded confusion. Was Lecter serious? There was nothing in the Shaman’s voice or expression that spoke of jesting — as it was Ira did not think Lecter was capable of joking. “You would have me apprentice under you?” Ira inquired softly, tone contemplative. “Would it help Jinx …and Silvertip when you die?” It was a weird word to say, and Ira had hesitated over it slightly as if it had been a hard thing for him to say. Not because he cared for Lecter and the thought of him moving on to another life was an upsetting thing for Ira but mostly because he had been thinking, briefly of Jinx and how he felt sure that the death of the Shaman would hurt her. As much as Ira hoped he could shield, protect Jinx from any kind of heart break and pain he knew that it was unavoidable and that he was no one’s savior.