Rhoa Vezhven

Rhanno stood unflinching as the Khal stared him down with his fiery gaze, similar in colour to his own but with the spark of youth burning bright within. He wondered how long the man had been Khal. He had a following already, which meant he wasn't too new to leadership. Unless of course he had pulled a Tihollo and his Khalas were no better than the traitorous wolves that made up Rhanno's last pack. If they were, then perhaps Zoratto would fit in perfectly.

The other's wry smirk caused his perpetual frown to deepen, knowing full well the boy would be glad to free from his clutches. He wasn't a coyote; he wasn't born into slavery. Yet he was still Rhanno's property. He didn't truly think of him as a son, though he was the closest thing he had to one (having severed any connection with Tihollo when he pulled his little usurper stunt) and he'd be damned if he just let him frolic away into the distance.

I wouldn't be so sure of that, Rhanno mentally responded with an inward roll of his eyes to the other's comment of Zoratto eventually being of some use to them. However, it seemed he had proven himself more than Rhanno had. He had to at least feign some humility if he was to be accepted into the Khalas ranks. The very idea was abhorrent, but he knew he wouldn't survive long as a loner in foreign lands. "He is still my ward," the elder said through gritted teeth. A lie, partly. "And I would like to continue watching over him."