Moonspear the return

His father was in good spirits. He seemed to welcome their investigations each in turn, whether it was the probing nose of one of his children or the questions of his wife; but it was Revui who remained silent, as was his way. He did not need to ask these things. His interest was something more basic, and he trailed after Charon as the man was escorted by his worried family through the rendezvous site. Revui was concerned for his father, certainly, that was evidenced by the way he appeared today; had he not cared, he would not have come. News of their patriarch's harm would spread down the mountain like wild-fire and soon enough, he believed, Revui would lead a march against the perpetrator. He knew this. Hydra knew this — Amekaze, he assumed, would demand it. Someone would band them together and they would purge the wilderness of this danger. Perhaps in the process, Revui would find himself finally satiated, the blood of their enemies coating his teeth.

Ah, but he was getting ahead of himself. He was still just a boy. Bloodthirsty and warmongering, but a boy. One with an idealized sense of self. He was a wolf of Moonspear, one of Charon's beloved sons. His ego was too great, his skills too undeveloped to be of any use in such a situation. But he could think about it, savor each illusion that his mind concocted. His imagination had begun to grow in strength lately and the prospect of a real fight, with real stakes and real blood, got his own blood pumping. He was here for that, specifically — the blood, dried and matted to his father's coat.

Revui was Moonspear's shark in the water; if they wished for him to bite, they merely needed to bait him.