liqour lungs

The patrol had been long and, until now, fairly uneventful. Neither of the pups he had taken in seemed to have an interest in the arts of war, but rather healing, which was a disappointment to him but hardly surprising considering their mother had been a healer as well, and she'd always been far gentler than he thought wise to have allowed flourishing within their family. Then again, he far preferred the lack of trouble she brought the family over the various crazies that his father had kept around and encouraged by the sin of omission. If either child had been interested in following in a more martial path, he would have brought them with him as he patrolled. It would be good for them to get into the habit of doing it properly from a young age, and any trouble upon the border would be a teaching experience. They were, of course, too young to be allowed to get involved in a border skirmish, but watching from a safer distance would be good seasoning for a pup, and later as they learned to fight he could have involved them more closely in patrols. You could never start pups learning too young, as far as he was concerned. It was too bad they were not interested, and it made him yearn for his own pups to mold from birth to be what an Abraxas should be. He would, of course, help these two to find mentors fit for them. The family needed healers as well. But it simply wouldn't be the same as...

His head came up suddenly, his musing cut off midthought, as a scent caught his attention. This was a strip of land he'd already patrolled today, overlayed now with the hot scent of a stranger who had passed, wittingly or no, into Abraxas lands. He turned onto the track immediately, following it to the creek and the escort of sycamores that marched down its bank, until he spotted the stranger's form beneath the shade of one of the trees. His militaristic bearing stiffened, polished gold eyes chilling noticeably. The pack's lands were clearly marked - there was no excuse for a wolf to be wandering the territories as if they were loner lands, free to be explored and used. No excuse at all to be lounging relaxed and carefree as though they were not intruding upon the sovereign lands of the Abraxas. It was, frankly, offensive to the deeply proper gentleman of war.

Head and tail high, the phantom marched along the track to the fool's resting place, making no effort to hide his coming. "Trespassers are not tolerated within the borders of the Risen Empire," his low voice rumbled disapprovingly. His tall form had fallen easily into a battle stance, ready for trouble, but he held back from attacking at once, the diamond-sharp edges of fury only heightening his senses, kept on a short leash rather than driving him as some of his kin were prone to. "If you leave now, without trouble, and do not return, you will be allowed to do so in peace. If you do not, you will be set out regardless and I will be forced to maim you for the trouble - or I will be burying you. It is your choice." Deep and cool, his voice gave no sign of agitation or anger, but his gaze was hard-edged and calculating as he swept it over the smaller wolf.