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

Pleased embers simmered their light within the airy harbor of these phantoms as the Sire let the pup eat the majority of rabbit shank. It was a hefty meal, and with the toxic swoon of exhaustion, if the young wolf succumbed to it's siren call, much of his strength would return with godspeed. But a voice had sewn through the abyss of this cave, and the words furrowed Slade's mind.

All wolves were born in blood, and if this was the title fit for the youth, given to him by his dam, then Slade was throughly disappointed. Something as precious as this pup deserved something more than 'Blood Born'. His dam was a fool, curr in and out.
However, she was dead now. Nothing of her mattered, anymore. That life was behind this boy, and he would learn of it the more time he spent with a King, rather than those useless and pathetic peasants who dared hold him back from his potential.

It was the night, and as much as Slade desired the pup learn at the first leap of oppertunity, he knew to keep the wolf weak through physical strain would only prove futile and regressive. He would take no selfish step such as that. If he were to survive the trainings, he would need the totality and beyond of strength.

Slade sat up, and postioned his wall of a body infront of the den. He would guard the den through the night, knowing his nocturnal insomnia forbade him the release of sleep at such a blessedly cursed hour. With nothing more than a chin over his muscle bound shoulder, a thunder rolled through the space within the den, the rumbling baritones belonging to the Nightmare King himself.

"Rest."

Molten gaze seared through the veil of his silhuoette as he gave the command. Nothing otherwise would be tolerated, not that there was anything left to do. Along with there being nowhere else to go. But it was implied regardless that this was for the greater good, though for who, was unclear.
But it was for the best.