Black Morass abyssus abyssum invocat

kóvictus watches. he observes. the younger wolf is bruised, bloodied, but unswerved.

good.

he huffs and gives his pelt a brisk shake, muscles thrumming with the familiar high of combat still. he sees the look atilius gives him and meets it with a narrow of eyes. atilius will know the dominus is pleased because he yet lives.

violence is a language, and atilius speaks it well enough.

you did well. any man who can hold his own against me is welcome in the morass. but still— his voice smolders, you are feralis. no weight to your name. you must squalor in the mud before you may rise. and it is with that the dominus turns, beginning to lead his weight away. not without first exchanging whispered words with his praetor.

atilius is now theissor's to do with what he will.