horrible

Artur's ears pricked up as he heard the call from the battlefield. Young as he was, it took him a long moment to interpret it. He'd never heard a pack challenge, since he'd not yet been born when the last one had taken place in the battlefield. When he worked out what it was, however, the young male's eyes gleamed with an excitement that was rare for him. Unlike his siblings, their previous experience with the battlefield had only inflamed his urge to return to the scene of chaos and disorder that had shaped his desire to mold that into an order of his choosing. Now here was someone perhaps choosing to do just that, someone who had seen the weakness inherent in the wolves who led the packs currently and chose to wrest one from the unworthy paws that held it.

He blinked in confusion as Aurielle's voice called out not long after. She was calling for Caelia. She was... bringing Caelia to the battlefield? He waited for a call for the rest of them, but it didn't come. Immediately he was affronted. What the hell? What was special about Caelia that she should accompany the alpha to observe a rare pack challenge, but no one else? A twitch of his lip that for a brief second exposed fang was his only concession to the rage that suddenly coursed through him, before his expression closed down entirely into icy calm.

It didn't matter if the alpha invited him or not. He was a yearling, an adult, and free to go where he pleased. So it wasn't long after Aurielle and his sister set out that Artur set off with his own ground-eating lope, taking care not to follow the same trail as the two of them so he wouldn't appear to be following them. Appearances mattered, to Artur.

So he was a little later than they were when he reached the battlefield, and in a slightly different direction. The challenged alpha was already striding up, and Artur was irritated to find that he was annoyingly close to following in the male's footsteps, making it look uncannily like Artur was following him. It couldn't be helped, though.

Artur was careful to swing wide around the circle of spectators to the opposite side of his packmates before seating himself alone, scarred face held regally high, gaze sweeping over the whole tableau with disdain. Wasn't that the sunburned male who'd been captured last time? Hadn't he been a member of this very pack he now sought to claim? He stared disapprovingly at the traitorous wolf, then at the male who lurked in the background, the one who had stolen this would-be king away from the pack he now challenged for, and his eyes narrowed in calculated thought. What had the male said or done that would turn a man he'd just taken as a slave against his pack? What silvery words had he spoken to lure him to his side? Or had the male been a traitor all along, and only the band leader's interference had given him the courage? Artur longed to know.

His gaze moved to the yellow-eyed alpha who had swept in and now moved to the attack without stopping to bandy words. Which of them would emerge victorious? And in their victory, how would the spectators around them react? If the albino won, would the band leader who clearly supported him be the true power behind his throne, or would they part ways? The idea of some ragged vagabond nomad having the power to order packs as they liked was distasteful to him. Yet... it gave him a shivering inkling of an idea, a feeling like a world of possibilities opening before him. The band leader had no territory he was tied to, that he needed to defend. So how could a pack retaliate against him without leaving themselves vulnerable? There was no land they could be certain of finding the band and ambushing them.

His tongue darted out to touch the center of his lip in a thoughtful gesture, and he hardly paid attention to the battle that had joined before him, though his blue eyes remained upon the fighters, for his thoughts were lingering upon that vague kernel of an idea.