Blackfeather Woods glowing like prey in the forest of death

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Roarke held the inklings of dominance found in his desire to spar with all that he came in contact with but Kahlil was a different beast all together. Roarke had submitted to Malliadh’s dominant nature because she was first born of his litter but Kahlil takes the bases that he has and makes it domineering. His intent to absorb the scent of the Blackfeather wolves was not a gesture meant to be dominate — simply he is trying to make himself one of them — and it is not until the approach of the first pup — Neo he would come to know him as — whose posture oozes dominance that draws from spinesplitter’s lips a low scoff. He smells about as apart of Blackfeather Woods as Kahlil himself and the domineering thespian will not tolerate such arrogant displays that he intends to hold no mind to. Two can easily play at that game and here he bears no blood to this boy and he just as it appears the other will not cease to attempt to assert himself neither with Kahlil.

The scent of Nyx, his caretaker, lays heavy upon the pelt of the one he would know as Neo and for reasons unknown to him this creatures a miasma of things within Kahlil. Envy, possessiveness, all furthering his want to assert himself. Lips curl back from his teeth as the young aspiring warrior pulls himself up to his full height in response, tail lashing and rising over his own back, longer tendrils of fur at his developing mane bristling. The appearance of a second boy — a moonbeam silver like The Stranger causes milky gaze star bursting with frigid glacial blue spares him a look as the older boy makes venomous demand. Is he to be outnumbered? Or has he found an unlikely ally in a stranger? Are they three odds each out for their own self none backing down? The last seems more likely than the previous, questions that came and went just as quickly. “Kahlil,” He issues his name in a low, rasping tone, still too youthful to hold the honeyed depth of whisky steeped in smoke that puberty will bring him. “— ward of the Speaker Nyx.” He informs both boys as he shifts his position so he can better keep both of them in view, muscles tensing along his hefty body as he prepares for the chords of tension that spark and hold in a triangle among them to snap; the result of such snap yet unknown to him but the aspiring warrior (so very close to holding the trade) is ready to hold his own and prove that he will not and cannot be pushed around. He will tear into, hold his ground and refuse subserviency until he draws his last breath, if that is what it takes.