let the drum speak

Daa'ka

he had been there, watching, coldly. and as meleys spoke, and then sun eater spoke, he had begun to drift closer and closer towards the front of this gathering. seeking to stand near to his kin; sun eater, meleys, sulukinak.
it was there, he belonged. not in the tides of wolves he did not know, did not care to know—
wolves who were not lanzadoii. wolves who never could or would be. an eye centering on ridgeback then, for a fleeting moment, as the man proposes he will carry children.
he cannot bite back his judgmental chortle, one that is arrogant and deriving from the ridgeback's pitiful manhood. what bloodhunter does not fight? a remark bitten beneath his breath, directly mostly at meleys. he turns eyes then to sun eater.
what if wife is traitor, brother? he asks, eyes of blood glinting with a feverish urge. it is not his attention to offend nor speak out of turn—at least, not when addressing his brother. he lets this be known with the lowered, resting of his tail amongst his hocks. cubs are lanzadoii. they were of their blood. they should run with the caribou as they did. born into the ice raven's outstretched wings.
dark fang could not stand for a traitor woman to infect his nephews and nieces with her poison. his tongue laps first at his scarred snout, running the length of exposed teeth beneath the lifted flesh of his face. give cubs to a lanzadoii woman if wife betrays. it is his suggestion.
their sister, he thinks. or perhaps the pretty one with the muradoii bitch.