"The Road I Walk is Paved In Gold" Like a damaged reel of videotape, a broken record spinning feebly over the fissure with ugly static warbling, sunrise for the shadows arrived with repetition capable of deadening even the brightest eyes into some dim, docile, sheep-like compliance, twilight a shade pulled at predictable, timed intervals and condemned to be hatefully rejected by the destroyer for what it was, what it meant. Squabbling dogs nibbling their ticks, jockeying for position, rutting to produce piss-soaked replicas of themselves, they had no power here, and likewise he could only suffer them while slaughtering or torturing the odd, meaningless clone that wandered too close, rather than vaporize life in a vicious snake of teeth from which a thousand tiny soldiers, the insects, would emerge to swallow everything, the crippled victims negligible substitutes that failed even in their rawest screams and pleas and rages to provide anything worthwhile for her other than bland sustenance. Even had he possessed the mental capacity to muse consciously on all this destructive nonsense, there would be no means to such an end. What did these wolves have but their dens, their hunts, their skittish fear and inevitable extinction? Osiris was nothing, said nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing and so now played the part spectacularly, trudging aimlessly through the wimping willows, no memories and no conviction, the blackflies, the worshippers, huddled between his broad shoulders and along her spine, bunched together in the thick fur and inactive as if tired and cold. He seemed not to be looking for food, or even for someone to hurt, but simply roaming with only the fireflies to light his way. Golden brilliance seemed to radiate light along with the tiny insects as his bi colored gaze landed upon the reflection of himself. The water of the pond rippling and distorting his form. His skull was pounding, brain reeling with sloshes he could almost hear. The Golden King knew not what he would do next...but he knew his end game. And what a game it would be.

He had been clinging desperately to the area that his pack had once called home. He refused to believe that he was alone all over again, so soon after finding a place he felt like he belonged. He still had Esarosa, but he had started to feel like a burden on the older woman. So he sat himself at the base of one of the willows, watching the fireflies dance through the draping tendrils. He refused to let the mist build up in his silver eyes again, he was going to be a strong, young man. No more wimping out, he needed to be strong. Sniffling, he shifted his head as he caught sight of movement. The boy stayed still, not wanting his bangle or necklace to make a sound and give his position away. He narrowed his eyes slightly, the man was brightly marked with gold. Slightly stunned, he searched his mind for memories of his parents. He had been abandoned at such a young age that he was having a hard time remembering what they looked like. This was the very place he had been left, did his sire come back to look for him? Was it all just a mistake? Itri's heart pounded faster in his chest, and he slowly rose to his paws. Swallowing hard, he tried not to let his mind get ahead of itself. This wolf could very well be a stranger, his scent was different. Was he new to these parts? He didn't know, but the usually closed off wolf was taking slow steps towards him. He padded up to the pond, a few feet to the left of the stranger. Looking down into the pool, he looked at the man's reflection in the golden light. He blinked fast, trying to settle his swirling mind. His maw opened as if he was going to say something, but it snapped shut with an audible click. He was at a loss for words, which was nothing unusual for the silent boy. He couldn't bring himself to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, fearful of the man's answer. So he just stared, unsure of what to do. He knew it was unsafe, he wasn't a strong fighter. The older man could easily attack him and he would be at a loss of what to do, most likely just flailing on the ground and hoping to inflict some sort of damage in return. He swallowed once again, feeling like there was a lump in his throat. Itri knew there was a risk here, but he couldn't hold himself back. He had to know. "Speech"

"To Glorify My Platinum Soul" The night was fetid and dark. Chaos theory said things fall apart, chaos theory said everything is random, everything is atrophy and unknown and there is no way you will ever control it or understand it. That it's all just guessing, you can't even count the possibilities you can never know, you can never prepare, you can never do anything about it. crap just happened. It happened ferociously and unstoppably, all physics and beyond the physics, rapidly changing numbers and beyond the numbers... But in the end, who knows. Chaos theory wouldn't be pondered for thousands of years. He envisioned his future within the eyes of his reflection... looking at where the soldiers would stand to gather, where he would teach them until he died or grew old or unfit. Though Osiris didn't have plans about growing old. It wasn't something he was interested in. He stood now as though he were waiting for something to be drawn to him, by fate, by chance, by aggression or any other motive. Maybe Osiris did understand chaos theory. Maybe he knew how things tended to unravel. Yes, yes he did understand. It was not unusual for the golden king to prefer to nocturnal hours. Creeping was the national sport, lurking the leading profession. Osiris simply found more worth in the night. He never let his guard down, but especially not now, not when the eyes peaked, glowing, out of bushes. Not when rustles were something more, they were threats. He could hear that violent river churning nearby, he could hear the crickets daring a quiet chirp and cicadas stupidly belting out their cacophony. It was in the dark that a creatures true colors showed, when you saw what got the best of them, when you saw what they were afraid of. Osiris wasn't afraid of anything anymore. When the monsters stepped out from under the bed, he would give them a smile. A well-worn, psychotic smile. A tired smile. And he would narrow his bi colored eyes with interest as that very monster seemed to linger beside him. The Golden King averted his gaze to the male who seemed to stare at Osiris with a keen sense of curiosity. After taking in the strangers appearance Osiris himself found his sense of curiosity perk. It was not everyday one found a wolf with a coat similar to their own...and while not as defined or vibrant as Osiris, the boy looked as if he could be a relative of some sort. The thought made Osiris smirk deviously, grinning at the male as his tail flicked. Haaaaai He called. Feminine childishness in his voice that would often catch some off guard. Probably because he looked far more threatening than he actually sounded. Question was, would anyone be willing to find out how threatening he was? Rarely was that the case...and so, he waited...watched. Wanting to hear the gold speckled wolfs response to his greeting.