The morning was early, the fiery orange sun nothing but a crescent from where it peeked over the snowcapped horizon in the distance. The frozen earth beneath him was covered in a blanket loosely packed snow that crunched under the weight of each step he took. The skyline was painted vibrantly with the colors of dawn, pinks, golds, oranges, purples, reds. Each color bled into the other in a myriad of some deities' skilled painting. Gods had become harder for Sinaaq to believe in and he had all but abandoned them as he held little doubt that they had abandoned him also. Frigga had to leave so passionately in them, changing her name even to except religion that Adlartok's father brought and left with her. Sinaaq had never told Adlartok where he was going when he slipped away from whatever cavern had served as their den but always he returned to the infection. It had been during a hunt that the boy had left, ungrateful and unworthy as Sinaaq now knew the infection to be. Sinaaq did not think of the child, when he had left, had been old enough to take care of himself and thus only had one conclusion he had come to: Adlartok had ran away and likely died. Froze to death, was attacked, perished from starvation. Once, Sinaaq had held hope that the infection, under his careful guidance, would not turn out as idiotic as Sinaaq's inferior parents but it was clear now that the child is just as ignorant. A dissapointment.
How disappointed Frigga would be to learn such a truth and Sinaaq thought, first time with a swell of pity and sorrow in his breast, that it was better Frigga not a lot to see how miserably her only child had failed.
It was only in the absence of Quicksilver's presence — whatever had inspired the Roux-Abrhen off earlier than Sinaaq had risen this morning the darkling could only guess — The spots took to snaking their way out of the darkest recesses of Sinaaq's mind. Hey tolerance for their poison should have been built up by now but still they left him with the sour, metallic taste in his mouth and a new fissure in his already cracked heart. How it managed to still beat it's rhythm like a steady drum in his chest was anyone's guess. A scowl had twisted his angular face, eyes of liquid gold harsh and cold despite the warmth they were colored with. The darkling's pace slowed, however, when he found himself drawing closer to a pack's borders until he came to a complete halt more than an adequate distance between their borders and his body.
With the arsenic of his thoughts, now locked back up, still lingering he smoothed the scowl off of his face, replacing it with the mask of indifference that he wore so perfectly. The darkling had no real purpose of having came this far near the claimed lands of another pack but nevertheless he was here now. Might as well siphon what information he could; and he was curious even if remotely.