Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Be the First to the Feast, Let's Choke on the Past

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The wolf’s voice quivered with reverence as he stepped back, giving Hasdrubal space as if the very air around the man demanded respect. His eyes, wide and gleaming in the dim light, reflected a mixture of awe and anxiety.

Oh, Prophet, he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, bowing his head as though unworthy to stand so near. He took another cautious step back, careful not to crowd the man as he regained his bearings. You... you were not expected to awaken so soon. There was a tremble in his tone, not from fear but from sheer admiration.

The wolf’s ears twitched nervously. The Abbot asked me to ensure that no one entered—no one disturbed you while you rested. He—he said you had been attacked, badly wounded. That you needed time to heal. But now that you are awake... His voice trailed off for a moment as he gathered himself, almost giddy with the significance of what was happening.

The Abbot is just ahead, he continued. He will want to see you at once. Come with me, Prophet. With that, the wolf turned and began to lead the way, his movements careful, respectful, as though guiding a deity from the sacred shadows of the cave into the light.

He glanced back once, his tail wagging slightly, a flicker of excitement passing through him as he dared to speak more personally. I... I do not know if you remember me, Prophet. The last time I saw you, you were just a little thing, barely more than a pup. But you—you gave me advice. You told me to leave my pack and begin anew. I took your words to heart. I left, and I... well, I met my husband. We have been very happy. His voice grew wistful, filled with a quiet joy. I owe that happiness to you. When the Abbot found me, saying you were in trouble... I knew I had to come. It was my honor—no, it was my duty—to aid you in return.

They moved through the cave’s mouth, the evening light casting long shadows as the wolf spoke again, this time with a note of sadness. I heard you became ill about a year ago. Some dreadful disease, I believe. It spread and took many of your attendants. His voice wavered with sympathy. I... I am so sorry to hear it. Such misfortune is not your fault, Prophet. Illness chooses no favorites. No one blames you for it. I am certain of that.

He was quiet then as they rounded the jagged rock formation, revealing Herod at the tree line, surrounded by his loyal aides, his figure outlined in the dying light of the day. The gilded threads of his fur caught the sun’s last rays, casting an almost ethereal glow upon him, as though the heavens themselves sought to anoint him with their fading splendor. He paced, seemingly making notes and giving orders. At the sight of the approaching pair, a single, graceful motion of his silvering paw dismissed them.

Did you think about what I said, Hasdrubal? His posture straightened to its full height. His golden eyes fixed upon Hasdrubal, piercing through the fading light.

Come, let us speak, he continued, his tone firm yet carrying an undercurrent of something softer, something almost inviting. He gestured toward the edge of the forest, his voice slipping into a more intimate cadence. We will go somewhere more private.

The world beyond these walls is cruel and unforgiving, Hasdrubal. You have seen its worst. You have felt its sting. He paused, turning to face him with eyes that gleamed like molten gold. But here, with us, with me, you have purpose. You have power.

Herod leaned in, his gaze locking with Hasdrubal’s, those opalescent eyes shimmering with something unspoken, a tension that rippled in the space between them. Do you not grow weary of running? Of fighting a battle you cannot win? His voice softened, his words a silken snare meant to pull him back into the fold. You belong here, at my side. At the heart of Godsmouth.

He leaned forward, placing a paw upon the boy's own. His eyes traveled over the younger man, lingering for a breath on the soft curls that framed his neck, before pulling away, resuming his slow walk into the gathering shadows of the forest.

And then, as they moved deeper into the trees, Herod's voice dropped lower, becoming a whisper that only Hasdrubal could hear. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring that none of the camp's lingering eyes or ears were near. But, if you still refuse to see reason— his voice now carried a note of warning, the warmth slipping away like the fading light, I will have no choice but to indulge Elveera's wish to keep you tied down.

His body moved closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, wrapping around Hasdrubal like a cloak. Herod leaned in, the warmth of his breath brushing against the younger man’s skin as he pressed his nose to the scarred curve of Hasdrubal's neck, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of that which he had long been denied. Although, I don't suppose I would mind seeing you bound.