Blackfeather Woods I'm colder than the weather in winter

His sister's question slithered into the air, her tone as sweet as a honeycomb. He shuddered at it, feeling powerless despite his ranking and strength. How was it that Astrid was able to manipulate him so much? After all, in the test of force, he would always come out on top. But in the battle of wits? Astrid ran laps around him in that aspect. 

It was at that moment that Atshen's mind ran rampant as he attempted to think of anything that he could do at that moment. What was he to do now? Attacking would only indulge his speckled sibling's innermost desires. Running would prove he was a coward. He hesitated, his eyes seeking the outline of her form, and then a sudden, final thought came to mind: death. 

His gaze darkened at this conclusion he stalked a pace forward as he pulled himself to full height. Not offering his sister any verbal indication of his presence, Atshen leaped, aiming to grasp her jugular with his mouth.