Deliberation weighed heavy in Ira as he eyed Tark with unhindered scrutiny, his judgments based on words he perhaps had not fully understood as they had been exchanged not-so-secretly between Red Keep’s chief medic and his uncle in the abysmal dark of the night, when Ira had slipped out of the den he’d shared with his uncle upon his parents’ disappearance, following downwind of his uncle, remembering that when he hunted (or sneaking in Ira’s case that night) he should always stay downwind of his prey, target, et cetera. Uncertainty hung, heavy and suffocating like fog in the air, pressing down on Ira as he took in the grotesque scars that marred Tark, markings of a time once passed, realizing that he had grown to, tentatively as it was, trust Tark. The elder had not led him into a trap, had put up with him and failed to suffocate him in his slumber. Ira’s lips parted to speak, “Hush Ira. Tark snapped before Ira had even gotten the chance to vocalize whatever it had been that he had wanted to say to the dying elder. "I didn’ even say anything!" Ira was quick to jump to his own defense, silver fur that layered the length of his spine, pricking and ruffling in childish indignation. For a second, Ira considered screaming at Tark that he was dismissed, that Ira had no more use for a grumpy old man, but stopped, his temper dissolving as quickly as it had sparked to life at the look of aged sorrow Tark was giving him. Brow furrowed, nostrils flaring, inhaling the sickly scent of Tark, before his nose scrunched in contempt, taking a few steps back from Tark.
"Wass? Don’t look at me like that." The child huffed in a clipped, commanding tone before he turned around - so if Tark decided to ignore him at least Ira no longer had to see Tark staring at him. An shape seemed to merge from the shadows of the lands behind the scent markers, ivory, tall - probably taller than Tark if Ira had to guess - and marked with a wound that was probably fresh, though Ira’s eyes did not linger there. The female’s gaze touched Ira’s for a moment, and Ira blinked at her, slightly mesmerized as she then turned her attention to Tark.
Ira glimpsed quickly over his shoulder at Tark to see the elder’s head rise, though he - likely because he could not - rise from the snow. “It doesn’t matter who I am, I am a dying man,” Tark replied, before the brazen child let his attention go back to the female, who was like some sort of Amazonian Warrior Goddess, obviously. “The child is important. He is called Ira. His parents were led astray by his ruthlessly ambitious uncle and killed for the throne of Red Keep. His uncle’s arrogance set off a chain of events that left Ira, abandoned to die as Red Keep was invaded by a neighboring, rival pack. I brought him here.” Ira’s ears slicked back to his skull as he listened, for once, without having anything to rudely interject as the ragged timbers of Tark’s once deep drilled into his skull, speaking of ultimate betrayal. To love is to destroy, to be loved is to be destroyed. He would love no one ever again, and would keep all others from loving him for what choice did he have? Everyone he loved and that loved him had died. Despite that these concepts were things he was beginning to understand in greater detail, this felt resolute to Ira.
Numbly, the child turned his eyes to Tark, eyes sharp and unforgiving, wondering why the elder had never told him this before. Not that it mattered, there was nothing Ira could do but reluctantly accept his fate. Whatever it was, though Ira felt that what would happen in the next few moments would be key. “He needs a home, someone to raise him, to love him.” Tark gasped out, causing panic to shoot through Ira. "No!" Ira snapped, breaking his eerie silence with an abruptness. "Not love. I don’ want love." He protested. He watched Tark’s eyes flash, alarmed, to him before they went back to the woman who had come upon them. He didn’t have to explain his outburst - not that he was going too anyway.