The Laddies Went A'huntin'

His children were yearlings now. Old enough to make their own decisions, choose their own paths. Sarka had already gone off on her own. He’d shadowed her from well behind, and seen her go into Regium, the pack ruled by one of the friendlier Armadas. He hoped she would find happiness there. He hoped she would find that inner strength he knew lay at her core. Time had passed, and still no sign of Azalea had arrived. A part of him held onto the hope that she would indeed return, but it seemed that… for once, his hopeful light would fail.

He padded through the willows, mossy greens scanning the snow laden ground and the early spring crocuses beginning to just barely peek out of the snow in places. Spring wasn’t far away. He was reaching his prime; a strong, capable hunter; and he hoped to pass on the knowledge to his sons. He slowed as Raziels scent crossed under his nose, and his path altered smoothly, falling into line with the trail. He stopped as soon as the scent tasted only seconds old and lifted his head. “Raziel? Would you like a lesson in hunting today?” For now, it was the best he could offer. Fighting would come later, with help from Alsander and Surreal. They were more familiar with close quarter face to face fighting, while he was familiar with the assassins swift lightning strikes from behind; in and out with a slash of the teeth to the achilles tendons. And once the target was crippled, the kill would come.

As he waited, hoping his son would agree, he thought back to those months of training, marvelling at how swiftly one would learn under threat of death. The thought was shaken away with a shudder. He never wanted to return to the horror that was his old life. Never again.