Gonna draw your last breaths, at the end of our Mek’Leths

Since his rise to leadership, Gilgamesh found himself drinking less. Taking on the responsibility of leading a pack and cleaning up the lands, there simply was no time to drink. Maybe a sip here and there to help his mind shut off at the end of the day, but he no longer awoke with a hangover. Instead, he looked forward to his new litter and raids that the Raiders would go on soon.

Unfortunately for Gil, his enemy would be the one to beat him to it. His owl came to him in a flutter of feathers and screeches. Curled up with his Wife, Gil slipped away quickly to greet Erish. ”Wolves. They smell like that Dread boy. They are coming to the islands.” Her throaty chatter was barely understood as she hopped along the open window pane. Casting one glance to Modesty, he dared not ruin her beauty sleep.

Slipping on his armor, Gilgamesh was rushing out of the building as Sirius’ call echoed across the territory. He would respond with his own deep rumble. Rousing whoever was here to help defend. He couldn’t help but smile. For once, they were the ones being raided. He loved it. His paws were already getting damp as he rushed across the make shift bridge they had been working on to connect the closest island to the isle. ”Meet them with the same energy. Do not maim unless they act first,” Gil calls out to whoever is trailing behind him.

As he rushes over the small island, making his way to the main one of the archipelago, he allows his adrenaline to guide him. Excited and amused, he picks up his pace until he is running through his own cloud of doves. Feathers swirl in the air around him as their alarmed calls screech into his ears. His target is set on Sirius, himself. It was time for them to see who was really better. A one on one that he looked forward it.

”Surprised to see you come down from your hiding spot,” Gil jabs at the Warlord as he rushes the dark coated man. Slim and fast, Gil readies himself. Ears flattened, hackles up, lips pulled back as he wastes no time. He can barely hear his chainmail clink as he closes the space between them. Gil aims for the delicate space between jaw and neck. Fangs pull down as his mouth opens. Lifting into the air to meet the few inches between their height, Gil goes for it. Hoping to latch on so he can keep them entangled with each other, it is just the first part of his plan.