Moonspear When darkness speaks, it changes everything.

His gaze drifted over each puncture wound that littered his upper forelimb, and thought how they didn't look as bad as they felt. A deep frown tugged each corner of his mouth as he considered what might lurk below the surface: the potential of pierced muscle, multiplying bacteria, severed blood vessels. Despite his upbringing having been focused on creating a warrior, Dacio had been reared by a mother who excelled in her field of healing and had picked up on a thing or two. He was no expert, but knew the signs to look out for.

Infection would not swell in his cuts, though. It would not poison his blood, nor would he let it render him useless. Drakru flowed through his veins, and he arrogantly believed that this was what would save him.

Following the Queen's advice, which he nodded to in silent agreement, a dark ear pricked forward at an unexpected expression of gratitude. Dacio lifted his pale eyes to seek Hydra's dark features, careful to avoid meeting her sharp gaze. "Seeing him thrive again will be all the 'thanks' I need," he assured her with a lazy flop of his dark tail. His expression darkened again, however, as Hydra carried on to share what she knew of Osiris' attacker, and he communicated his budding anger with the mention of Blackhead's name. "So they all work together," he concluded, and at once he considered the possible motive behind yesterday's scuffle in the glen. Could it have been an order by Blackhead - a warning to Moonspear for sheltering Drageda stragglers? He hated the idea of his existence there being the reason for the prince's injuries. "They will die," the warrior echoed with a rumbling growl, "and we will make sure of it."