Basilisk had asked Wylan to put on a training session, and the youth was happy to oblige. He knew he hadn’t been doing quite enough for the pack lately as one of its heirs. He’d gotten a little too caught up in his own drama… so he was happy to be given a task. He made his way to the training cavern in the Col, climbing up the slope and stopping by the door.

He raised his head, and howled into the open air across the mountain, letting his song sing out for a moment before he turned and slipped inside. Waiting for Basilisk’s children to join him.


"Wylan Fatalis"

Iskandor was still just a pup, but even now, his paws were nimble and precise as he fiddled with the dreamcatcher, a little treasure he’d found tucked away in a hidden corner. Whose it was, he didn’t know — yet he intended to put it back only once his curiosity about its purpose and ‘magic’ was satisfied. The tiny beads and feathers seemed alive in his grasp, shifting softly as he traced each string with wonder. He had read tales about the dreamcatcher, of how it caught bad dreams and let only the good ones pass through. Iskandor's mismatched blue eyes glimmered as he imagined what kind of dreams it would protect him from, what stories it might have already kept safe for others. It was such an odd trinket, simple yet layered in meaning he couldn't quite reach. What other strange relics might be hidden, and who decided their purposes? The questions swirled restlessly, weaving themselves into his young mind like threads, and he felt his chest tighten, almost painfully, with the need to know.

A distant howl echoed through the Col, carrying the weight of purpose. It was Wylan, summoning him and his siblings to a training session. Iskandor's ears perked up, and with one last, almost reverent look at the dreamcatcher, he tucked it away carefully before bounding toward the sound, his paws light and swift as he made his way up the slope.

Arriving at the mouth of the cavern, Iskandor slowed his steps, his gaze inquisitive but brimming with intensity. “Wylan!” he called with a youthful brightness, his boyish voice cheerful but somehow quiet all the same. “I’m here!” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked up, standing as tall as his young legs would allow, determined to be seen as someone eager and worthy of the lessons to come.



"Speech"

Citadel heard the call, and he always tried to get in on the training sessions that were called by the various Armada wolves. He wanted to learn everything he could. He wasn’t quite as good at picking up book work as his mother was, but he tried. That’s what mattered, right?

He trotted to the training den, where the call had originated from. He didn’t immediately see the winged wolf but he trotted inside and found his cousin a moment after Iskandor did. ”Me too!” He said, tossing Iskandor a cheeky grin before trotting further in. He came to a stop in front of the older winged wolf, looking up at the blue man to see what the lesson today would hold.

"Speech"

Selene was playing tag with the waves in the cove, trying her best not to get wet. Her paws whisked over the black sands with practiced ease. Her exceptionally dexterous paws gripped and twisted to make it look like she was dancing over the shallows. One wave would pull back and she would dash toward it as if she could catch it. When a new wave pushed forward she danced back to the water line with uproarious chiming laughter.

She was just about to chase another wave when she skidded to a halt for Wylan's call! With a jolt and a jump, she sprinted over the beach and up the stairs just as Citadel's disappeared through the doorway. Dang it dang it! She wasn't first again! She had started from down the shore a ways.

She barrelled into both her big brothers and squeezed herself between them. "What we doin?" She asked excitedly, her tail whisking back and forth.

"Selene"

It wasn’t long before a handful of puppies appeared before him. He grinned at the three of them, noticing the increased change in sizes between them. How big were these boys going to grow to? “Hello Iskandor, Citadel, Selene.” He said, leading them to a table where he had laid out some knives. It did seem to be popular among the Fatalis wolves these days to wield knives. He had one of his own that his Uncle he forged for him.

“Today we are going to learn a little about knives. First, you're going to learn how to pick a knife that's right for you, and then we are going to learn a little about safely handling them.” he explained. “So let's figure out what makes a knife right for you. Pick up some of the ones on the table and get a feel for them. What makes them different? Is it the way they’re balanced, the length, the width?” He asked them to pay attention to all these factors as he waved for them to begin.


"Wylan Fatalis"

Iskandor immediately matched his brother’s cheeky grin with his own, his eyes sparking in mischief as his brother sat next to him. But the moment Selene wedged herself between them, Iskandor's expression softened into a lopsided, boyish grin as he leaned slightly to mock squish her.

Wylan's voice drew them all to attention. “Today we are going to learn a little about knives.” he said, gesturing to the table where several knives lay.

Iskandor’s eyes lit up with intrigue, the gleam of each blade catching the light blue hues of his gaze. He stepped closer, careful yet eager, as Wylan continued, “So let's figure out what makes a knife right for you. Pick up some of the ones on the table and get a feel for them. What makes them different? Is it the way they’re balanced, the length, the width?”

The young wolf obeyed, feeling the cool metal under his paw pads and noticing the subtle shifts in weight as he moved each blade. Some were heavier at the base, some felt more balanced. His mind raced with the questions posed, absorbing the details he noticed upon first inspection. Which would be the right fit for him?


"Speech"