His defense had been weak, and had inspired a chortle to come from the warrior woman before him. Ira’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, despite that he knew there had been nothing behind it to back up the verification that he was important. He was a Princeling of ruined lands, of a pack that had fled to the winds. Or at least, those that had been lucky enough to flee, at any rate. More than likely, he was the Princeling of chaotic carnage and the dead. What good were the dead to him? Ira had just been about to let her mocking (at least, this was how the child had taken her chortle to be) go, an advantage of his childs’ short attention span (making it obnoxiously hard to hold a grudge of any sort), except for her following words which had been basically been comparing him to her butt. Leathery, black nostrils flared in irritation, as his pupils narrowed to near pinpricks in their pools of milky blue irises, as his eyelids lowered. His lips wrinkled back in his (probably humorous irritation). "I am not like your ass!" Ira spat at her brazenly, not caring in that moment that even injured as she was, she could end his life in a single, fluid moment if she wanted too. The truth of the matter was, he wasn’t afraid. Of her. Of Tark. Of death (not that he fully understood the ramifications of death).
“Ira!” Tark reprimanded sharply. Ira simply rolled his eyes as his irritation turned to sulking (he hated being reprimanded), as he stared absently at a stray rock whose grey, rounded top peaked out from it’s blanket of snow, glaring at it wishing he could burn a hole through it - as he had earlier when Tark had been ignoring him. "Well she said it…" Ira grumbled to himself, though if Tark had heard him, the elder chose not to comment. When Jinx spoke to Tark in regards to her ‘Gods’, despite Ira’s best efforts his curiosity was peaked. His parents, nor uncle had never spoken of any “Gods”. Never mind Gods that had an interest in him. "You saw me in a vision?" Ira inquired, his previous anger at Jinx all but dissolved; though Ira had attempted to make the question sounded skeptical, he could not entirely conceal his interest. “Whatever reason you take him, take him. I cannot help him…any….” Tark gasped, “anymore.” He took one more labored breath before his head dropped to the snow and his chest refused to rise or fall anymore.
Ears slicked back to Ira’s skull as he watched prudently for any sign of life, breath, a twitch of the elder’s nose, but was meant with nothing. "Tark?" Ira asked, slinking forward cautiously, as if the elder would spring up as if his death were a joke at any given moment. Midway between the elder and Jinx, Ira stopped, ears pinned back, before he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the motion before he turned around and sought Jinx’s camouflaged form with his cold eyes. Though he desired to ask her ‘what now’, he did not, instead choosing just to stare at her until she gave him instructions or told him to get lost. He was suddenly too exhausted to put up too much of a fight, regardless. Unsure of what he felt about Tark's passing. He was just numb, and tired.