Phantom Hollow There can be only Two (For my little Chicken Pox <3)

Slade had taken the youth to his den, the larger-than-average bask of a home more than enough room to accompany the two lupines. Immediately, Slade set to work, purposefully ignoring the useless question posed by the whelp. Now was not the time to answer questions; now was the time to conserve energy for the next brew of pain that was to be branded into the young heir. It would not hurt Slade to force this into the pup, as it would only be a trial to see whether this one was the one. The one fit to assume the mantle of Vengeance. A throne a Reaper could be unmovable from.

The dark Sire held the pup down as he took to cleaning him, rough laps of his silver tongue ridding the tiny body of grit and grim, layer by layer, piece by piece. His tongue assaulted every crevice, shedding away the neglect the world had visually inflicted on him. Ears, tail, body, paws, underside, all were not hidden from the dark grey cleaning muscle. As he was finishing up the wash, volcanic irises studied the unnatural angle of the leg, the limp limb dangling. Swifter than a python, the last lick barely left his maw before he grabbed the shank of the boys flank, gentle but firmly, and twisted the leg back to it's original position, an audible 'pop' settling between the males as Slade snapped the disjointed limb back to it's proper place.