just rub some dirt on it

A flash of recognition shot across Zagan’s gaze. Sparrow, the Pirate King. The name rang a bell- Aresenn had taught The Syndicate pups of his upbringing- of the pirate ship he grew up on when he was a child.

The rest of the information wasn’t very useful- but it did form connections in the inner webs of Zagan’s mind. “Then you and I aren’t so different.” It was a statement that held a depth of meaning- one meant to spark curiosity.

He knew the turmoils of visiting his mother in his dreams, and the scars it creates. A pain that never fully dissipates. But for Zagan, there is a small reprieve- when his Father is not wearing his Mother’s pelt, he leaves her sprawled out on the floor of his den. The Sultan’s trophy for all to see. And in those moments, Zagan can indulge in the familiarity of her scent- the physicality of her fur against his skin. To dance in the gruesome ballet of grief.

His thoughts are fleeting, his attention shifting back to the fire worm. As Atoll described it, Zagan was creating the scene in his mind.

A massive worm emerging from volcanic depths, spitting fire, incinerating wolves left and right. The smell of burning flesh, heavy and thick in the air. Wisps of black smoke choking the atmosphere, mixed with glowing embers rising from cracks in the earth's surface. Death. So much death.

Zagan’s features twisted in morbid delight, revealing a flash of sharp teeth. “And you got away with just a scar?” He croons, cocking his head to the side. “How lucky.” Leaning forward, Zagan studies Atoll’s weeping wound- but there is a coldness in his gaze- a calculated cruelty that revels in the suffering of others. “There were ice worms in the North.” He says, revealing information the boy may find interesting. “Perhaps there is a connection between your fire worm and our ice worm.” A simple observation. One worth investigating.

"Zagan Saxe"