One man's trash

Basilisk looked at Ignita, taking in the way she seemed to melt beneath his paws. For a moment, it seemed the battle would be won, and the worst of it had passed. But a few moments was all it took, and her anger seemed to come flooding back. She was a magnificent creature when she was angry. It made her seem bigger than her tiny stature. She stood up to him with her words, with the posture of her body. “I love you” He said, his paw still heavy on her shoulder, as if to hold her down.

“She is expendable in a way you never will be. She is not your friend, my love.” His voice was gentle, and he sought for words that would make sense to her. “I am your Warlord, and the legacy of this pack matters. I may deem it important to have more children, and I will not put you at risk. But there is time before that may come to pass. Time to come to terms with it.”


"Basilisk Fatalis"