Caricature of intimacy

Tyranis arrived, fashionably late as always to the birthing of his Taskmaster’s whelps. He sat stoically at the mouth of the den, his eyes narrowed as the woman writhed and shrieked. He recalled Aranea’s birthing and felt a tremor of rage climb the back of his neck. He fully expected the cubs the woman birthed to be writing masses of tumorous flesh and was less than pleased when the first of their litter was pushed into the world, whole and healthy with the exception of an unnaturally long tail.  “A freak like it’s whore mother.” Tyranis thought spitefully still reeling that Hannibal had more of his pack aligned with himself rather than their leader, but kept his expression measured and controlled.

Leera seemed to be attached to the brown woman which only nettled him more. Thoughts of Leera brought him to thinking of his own hearty stock of cubs that would soon grace the earth. They would need to learn the faith of the demons soon to avoid being mislead toward disloyalty and weakness.  “Soon.” Tyranis thought, his sight drifting to the side before he returned his attention to the scene before him. He thought instead of Hannibal’s cubs learning the ways of the demons and putting their loyalty in the High Lord rather than in their own father and felt the small tug of a smile at the corners of his lips.

Speaking  Thinking You