Iskandor stirred at the gentle tug on his ear, a faint frown pulling at his face as his sleep was disrupted. His eyes fluttered open, the world around him blurred in the quiet darkness. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light, before his gaze fell on Basilisk, his father. The figure loomed over him, and the soft whisper reached his ears beckoning him to follow.
A shiver crept down Iska's spine, but he forced himself to remain still. His piercing blue eyes darted toward the others, still slumbering in peaceful ignorance. His mind, young but sharp, was already racing with questions. Why him, at least this time? What was expected of him?
He caught the gesture for silence, instinctively following it, though his heart pounded in his chest. Despite his age, there was a certain awareness in him, a caution not typical of most pups. Iska hesitated for only a moment, then rose slowly, careful not to disturb the others as he mimicked his father’s movements. His thoughts swirled, a quiet storm of anticipation and unease, but he kept it hidden behind a composed face.
As they moved away from the group, Iska's muscles tensed, his ears pricked forward, trying to sense the purpose behind his father's actions. His youthful regal posture barely wavered, despite the unease growing within him. Still, he was his father's son—curiosity and strength wrapped in youth. He would face whatever came, silently, waiting for the reason behind Basilisk's summon.
The night stretched before them, quiet yet full of unspoken intent as he followed.
"Speech"
