Ouroboros Spine hard time forgetting, even harder forgiving

The bear of a Queen moved with precise intent Sinaaq observed, and despite himself admired. Without knowing her he had a suspicion that she would not fail to impress him. Though the darkling kept it close to his chest, coveted like something precious, he had to admit (at least to himself) that she already had accomplished impressing him. She had stormed the Spine and conquered it in a single night, likely before any of the Spine wolves knew what had even happened. Like a moth to a flame he felt drawn to her enigma, wondering if she could continue her lucky streak. In all reality, his opinion meant nothing for he was nothing to the Spine. Just an enigma in his own right. A wretched hermit that kept to himself except in the circumstances when he was being forced to socialize. There had been situations in which had exceeded this with exception, of course. There were always exceptions. Under Cara's play pretend rule, Sinaaq had been nothing but a challenge, with the few times she seemed eager to raise to it, to play his game and draw him in with intrigue only for the result. She had disappointed him, though it did not come as much of a surprise. Everyone left him disappointed — eventually. Even his own nephew — his own flesh and blood. 


Everything he'd ever done for the infection had been cast aside at the boy's first inkling of paranoia. As if Sinaaq would have ever left Adlartok. The thought in and of itself was insulting, but nevertheless they had parted after their reunion, the child spewing nonsense of not trusting anyone. Like Sinaaq had ever given him a reason to consider such a thing. Sold himself as a prisoner, among other things to keep the boy kempt, fed and looked after; made demanding conditions when he'd been in no place to do so. Adlartok's was one of few betrayals that hurt, that's sting still had a nasty bite.

Refocusing his attention, Sinaaq watched as her ear flickered towards him though she gave him only silence — her intention of avoiding his rhetorical question obvious to the darkling, whose right brow rose into a wicked arch over the sharp, golden iris it accented. His gaze followed the movement of her gesture with precision, and to show that his affiliation did not lay with Cara (and likely never had?) he obliged her, svelte form moving with subtle sass and smooth, majestic movements. To her cause he aided, leg raising to add his scent to hers upon the borders. “I am Sinaaq,” He offered as an introduction, simple but important nonetheless, lest she be like him and not care enough to inquire as to their names.