You're the heathen, I'm the fool

Perched atop a large boulder, with his blade unsheathed and sitting between his paws. Sephiran was in a state of contemplation- heterochromatic eyes roving across the obsidian steel, tracing out the words that read Saxe Prodigy on the handle. Summer was quickly coming to an end- which meant, it was time to move their group of heathens. Again. He didn’t have a new location in mind, just yet- truthfully, having to uproot his group every few weeks was rather irritating to the brute. But it was necessary until they found a kingdom to overtake. Tail flicking behind him, the blade being passed from one paw to the other. He fantasized about killing the alpha of a pack, so he could sit upon their bloodstained throne and finally give his family a proper place to inhabit.

His musings were cut short- mind being pulled from his daydreams, as the scent of something familiar danced in the breeze. In tandem, his falcon appeared in the sky above- screeching out an alarm he’d taught it seasons before. A stranger was in the territory. Rising to his feet and sheathing his blade, Sephiran leaped down from his makeshift perch, falling into an even-paced stride as he followed his falcon to the source of concern.

A silhouette appeared on the horizon, mirage-like at first, given the heat of the summer season. But as he drew near, he immediately recognized the girl. Having interacted with her twice before- once at the raider’s party, and second, on their own out in a forest. There was a darkness that resided in the girl. One similar to the beast that dwelled in Aresenn. Only, she’d controlled it far better than her bother. But the world was ever changing- and so were the minds of the wolves who inhabited Boreas. Perhaps she’d finally succumbed to who she really was. Why else would she be lingering in his domain? Surely she recognized the scents- she’d never forget Aresenn’s musk, he assumed.

He didn’t hesitate to approach her- catching the tail end of her outburst. And although Sephiran knew Rivin, he wouldn’t alter his domineering advance. Tail raised above his hips, pelt bristling, lips peeled back to bare his elongated fangs. Regardless of her reason for visiting, in Sephiran’s mind, she was trespassing. “And who are you fighting, Rivin?” He crooned, head lowering as he closed in on her, his lope having morphed into a saunter. "Surely, not my band of heathens.” A question and a threat- if she came to uproot his band, or try and steal Aresenn from him. Sephiran would issue a vicious onslaught against her and whatever followers she’d incurred.

"Sephiran Saxe"