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

The screams, whines and whimpers reached a harmony that threatened to tickle a sadistic fancy in the older man, but he quelled such a raunchy pleasure. This pup was going to be raised as just as Slade would have raised his own. No biased sway of praise or taint of neglect would dare touch this child's upbringing.

After the music died down to pants and soo silence, Slade was appreciative of how the whelp hadn't bombarded him with questions. Silence was what best taught those, as it crafted Listeners, and not Talkers. Listeners were who survived, while Talkers perished to their mouths insistent droning. Words were special, and they deserved to be treated as such...sparingly.

They were eye to eye, and Slade was soon growing in sight of what lay before him. This boy was beautiful, and most of what enamoured the Sire was the glaring scarlet of a rare eye color. It was him. He was the one.
Pleased he could have gotten such a catch, Slade allowed himseld to smile. It was brief, swallowed back by the blaspemy that was his face, but it had been there for a fleeting second.

Turning, Slade dug a massive paw into the outside edges of his den entrance, and single pawedly dug up a rabbit that he had caught earlier that day before the sun had ruined his life. It was still fresh, the warmth kept inside by the insulation of the soft soil, allowing the blood to remain luke warm and wet. The Shadow Sire placed the small prey before the ebony sheathed youth, his sun flare gems laying upon his newly adopted company.
Words need not be spoken, as food was presented before a weak wolf, and the intention was clear; food gave strength, which was restored upon a well established meal.