Deepwood Weald When it is dark enough you can see the stars

Damien would never have to worry about the reaper's heritage - Aries had never pledged loyalty to his cowardly father, and in his disquietude about the jumbled family and their situation, he'd removed himself from their midst and accompanied the star-dusted consort of the melonii clan. She'd tempted him with stories of the night, and from his first days within blackfeather woods he had become her ward, her soldier, a firm loyalty beginning to course through his veins. Despite his twisted demeanor, the outcasted Svartell was not a traitor (at least, not to those he trusted), and he did not intend to be, not to Damien and Nyx.

The summon was sharp, sincere, and the steel warrior wove swiftly toward the borders, stopping a brief distance away and dipping his head in respect to the man who's baritones had reached across the weald to demand his presence. "Damien, you called?" he enquired, before sharp orbs of ice assessed the scene in a quick flick of his eyes - Drakonis. So, he'd been correct: the half brother that had emerged out of nowhere had followed his scent back to the clan. He wasn't entirely pleased about this (blood-ties often resulted in disappointment), but he had thought about what he could turn the confused traveller into, should his life be cast into the hands of the melonii's. 

He would not speak yet; not until asked of him, and when his appearance was no longer required, the soldier would slip back into the shadows he had slithered from.