I'm Waiting For You, Vizzini

He had not yet mastered the new style of hunting that living on the sea ice required, though he was beginning to learn the ways of the creatures who made their living from it, so Enrico had ventured out of his pack's lands with the intention of going after some of the smaller game that resided there. He'd have to start the younger members who'd chosen to join him on some bigger game another time, but for now he would be hunting on his own before another blizzard hit.

Preoccupied with sorting prey scents to track, he was making it a point to dismiss other predators' scents from the forefront of his mind, though he kept just enough notice of them that he wouldn't be caught unaware by a puma. One scent kept tickling at his mind, though, refusing to be completely disregarded. Enrico was too distracted by thoughts of getting a few hares and getting back before the snow hit to quite place the scent. He continued on regardless, and so was not expecting it when he nearly stumbled over the body of a wolf in his path.

He froze, as the scent and form of the wolf coalesced into one.

Basileus.

Basileus Scarlatti was the wolf who'd been sent to track him down.

Track him down... and kill him.

All of his survival instincts - honed for so long on the run from this very man - screamed at him to run, or to leap on the prostrate form and rend it to pieces before Basileus could return the favor. Caught between two terror reactions, Enrico instead found himself unable to do either.

It was perhaps that hesitation that allowed thought to seep in once again, and allowed him time to realize that Basileus was not moving. Time for the scent of blood to sink in. Time for his mind to go from instinct to reason, from simple reaction to actual thought. Time for his natural calm to reassert itself.

Despite all that had happened, he did not hate Basileus, nor any of the others who had ordered his death. Enrico, however unwittingly, had betrayed them all, had broken omerta. He deserved the death they wished on him. Basileus did not. Basileus was - as much as any man of the red brothers could be - innocent in this. He did not deserve to die bleeding in the snow, and Enrico's deep seated love for his brothers would not allow him to simply leave him there.

"Basileus," he breathed on a sigh. Damnation. Maybe if it had been a desperate fight for his own survival, he could have killed Basileus Scarlatti. But not like this. Not this coldblooded decision to simply walk away.

He stepped forward to where the red-tinted male could see him. Glacial eyes and face were soft and calm despite his racing heart. "Non mi aspettavo di rivederti, paesano" he said quietly. Once he would have been Basileus' superior, but that time was gone. He was an alpha now, but as far as he was concerned he and Basileus were equals now. The cosca, after all, was gone. "Non sembri così bene"