Firefly Glen the wolf and the dragon

He has grown, if such a feat was possible. It was at this point that he nearly reached Kjalarr's height, if he did not so already. But he is not fully filled in just yet, his muscles were still to grow into its fullest potential, forming a man of impressive stature and build. It was for that reason that the thought even came to mind that he could take on who was possibly the largest male he had ever come across in his life. This male he knew, from moons ago. Rannoch had been one of the first to ever get a taste of Vaati's knack for deception, the first person he had ever explicitly practiced his talent of lying to.

But they're rather fond history did not stop him from attempting something that had been building up steadily in his desires; his first kill. He would be the first of his litter to do so, an impressive feat to bring forth before a father he was secretly determined to impress. And his scent was all too familiar with someone who had wronged him not weeks before, the druid (@Mato). At the time, Vaati had recognized the scent to be of something that he knew, someone he had met before. It only clicked in his mind at that precise moment in time that it had been the scent of Rannoch, and piecing together what evidence he had gathered on his trip to Northstar Vale; the leader of that particular pack of kids. Perhaps it was time for the leader to pay for the mistakes of his followers. The druid had made a dire error that day of insulting him, and Vaati was a proud man.

The thought of second-guessing does not even pass through his mind, and he charges, bellowing an ungodly roar just seconds before launching - teeth and claws - at the neck of the grayscaled man. He has no plan other than what Miraak has taught him, to keep his wits about him. The attack is sure to throw him off, for Vaati seems to come out of nowhere, disorientating the man at best. But it is the logistics of his attack that should settle a fear within the bones of his prey, that his attack is not out of survival but bloodlust, an addiction that cannot and will not be sated with defeat.

His attack is met with little defense, which for a moment, surprises the younger male. Perhaps he expected more from the previously seemingly unconquerable leader who had once intimidated even Vaati to his core. But he did not waste time questioning the victory that came all too easy. It was a pitiful but fulfilling sight to see the great beast bleed freely at his feet, and the simple knowledge that he has stolen a life from its natural course was validating enough. However, Vaati was not left to relish in is victory very much longer before the rush of air and interference of scent brought forth three shadowed figures to the scene of the crime like reapers in the night coming to collect the dead, each following after the other but moving together as one. They hold a presence about them that mimics the one many those native to the dark woods hold, the air of superiority, death and malice. It does not faze him; the feeling of the end creeping up on him is one he was born into and there are very few things in this world that truly shake his comfort. However, he recognizes he is massively outnumbered and though he does not know the intent in which they have come, his ears fall flat against his skull and a lets a feral snarl out from a blood coated snout in return. They have no business with him, as far as he knows, and the urge to do to them what he did to Rannoch is sated only by the extreme suspicion he holds; he licks his lips in anticipation.

Ironically, this time for suspicion passes in a mere instant before the three descend upon in in an unholy wrath stemmed from nothing of value, but foolish loyalty he will never understand. Every muscle, limb, and weak spot is targeted by rows of teeth and claw, and he lets loose a hollowed cackle with enough madness in it, one could assume nothing could be done to the state of his body that has not already been done to his mind. But teeth and claw land and the stinging sensation sends the first rush of true fear he has ever felt. The pain hits him, and oh, it hits him hard; the audible sound of hair tearing from its girth, the scent of his own blood seeping from previously unmarred skin, and his own failing retaliation were sensations he had never felt before, and he can not bring himself to hate it. His bloodlust would be sated, yes, but that did not necessarily demand the blood be spilled from any other than himself; it was a feeling that gave him more euphoria than slaying Rannoch, proving to be an unnecessary killing when such a high could be made off of his own pain. Perhaps it is the ideology that even in the face of his own mortality, he does not fear the blackness of what would come for is simple; Vaati does not fear death. He never has.

It is Hydra's claw, tooth, and nail upon his eye that shakes him from his state of adrenaline high, and his heartbeat pounds out of his chest and into his ears before he staggers back, wasted with defeat and vision clouded only by the red of his own blood. In fact, he can't see anything else. An enraged roar, one filled with an anger so deep that he has never — and will never again feel — bellows from the depths of his chest, pain mixed with utter fear of what he may just lost. He can't run far, the wounds caused by the other two wraiths have temporarily crippled his ability to do so but he tries anyway, beelining it in the direction of his home. Home, where he will later be found by his mother, and to her horror. But it is a promise he swears under his breath, an oath, that the Three Fates will suffer by his claw in the same manner they had done him, and they will each take up a place beside each other as one, heads on the border of Blackfeather Woods.