drowning in hatred

The raven once again heralded the arrival of the king as he skulked out of the woods like a shadow. The black serpent hung around his neck like a great collar as he moved closer to his Taskmaster and the gathered cluster of females. He took one look at the ornate woman then looked away from her with disinterest to address Hannibal.

“Is this the healer I requested?” He asked with the venomous touch of a rhetorical question. She lacked the scent of medicinal herbs that he knew clung to a healer’s pelt. What he could scent on her was the heady aroma of an occupied womb and he narrowed his golden eyes pointedly at Hannibal.

Hannibal had obeyed his laws, the pups would be of Erövrare, but he wasn’t sure he enjoyed the thought of his own get competing with the ghostly male’s. He withheld all emotion from his features as he awaited an answer, but managed to reassure himself that all would be well, now that he had an oracle and a chancellor that would be devoted to maintaining order within his pack.

Speech, Thought, You