Hoshor Plains the roots beneath my shaded tree / the moon dancing across my sky

If the Reaper could have seen into his mother's thoughts, he might had allowed a smirk to cross his features - for it was not entirely true that he had befallen some evil, rather... he was the evil. He had become something so much more deadly than that ignorant boy who had drawn blood from the side of his packmate. He was not simply a young shadow, but a growing monster who wished only to cause pain and see the downfall of any he could tempt into his blood-stained jaws. A beast had consumed him from within and now he was nought but this beast. 

Coldness shone in his eyes, that sharp and icy stare gazing cooly at the woman before him, the woman who had looked after from him since his birth, until he made the sudden decision to leave. He was not denying that he cared for her, but he found himself uncapable of loving in the way that most could, leaving a space inside their heart for their family and their friends - the only gaps in his heart were the ones filled with darkness. But that did not mean he had not thought of her - of course he had. 

The sylph stepped forward with unspoken apologies dancing in her eyes and he found himself almost unsure of what to do. Was she expecting him to leap into her open arms and accept her love if she so wished to give it? He did not want to push her away, but he did not know how to greet her, or how to embrace her like a lost child should when they found a parent once more. Because he was not a child, despite his age. He had matured much faster than one should, but it mattered very little - Aries was a man of dark desires and malicious intent, whether that had originally been his plan or not. It was what he had become.

She asked if he was well, but the boy drew his tongue out and swept it across his lips as if cleansing his muzzle of the blood that seemed to eternally stain his body. Blood that he had viciously lured from another. "I am well." He confirmed, though the answer was simple, revealing none of his secrets. The assassin in training had expected Olive to recognise the distinct scent of Blackfeather on his fur, but she did not. In fact, not a spark of recognision shone in her features - perhaps she had not noticed. "Are you?" Though he almost expected the answer - for Cassiopeia had crossed paths with him already, and if she was not with Olive then surely the mother was distraught. Or perhaps their existence mattered less than her words implied - this thought alone was doubtful.