Watching his father die, knowing his mother too had been overthrown -- these events had changed him permanently. They had failed him indefinitely, and he had yet to find it in his heart to forgive either of them. And yet, there was one woman he would never forgive. It was only when he saw a sudden flash of orange fur that he realized that Jupiter had still been lurking nearby. Watching -- analyzing. Only briefly did he avert his gaze to her, watching her carefully as though sizing her up as she slipped from sight. "It was her," he rumbled softly as she left earshot, eyes falling back to the earth. Only briefly would he interrupt Cross, for the boy had begun to speak and he was intent on listening. Cross admitted that his mother had been angry with the Chief of former Glaciem for not going after Kaios. As if he could have slain him. He'd always thought of his father as unbreakable, as thoroughly invincible -- and while he'd been proved wrong, he knew just anyone couldn't have stopped his reign of terror. No, he'd been far too powerful. "Cross, born into a family of saints," he teased rather lightly, scoffing a bit. It was not hateful, but ... he knew the two had different backgrounds. Different families. He'd been born of blood, of violence; it seemed Cross had the kind of family who vowed to slay the kind of wolves that had been part of Amenti. Outcasts. Unwanted, depraved souls, the kind of creatures that wolves warned their children about. Part of him knew he was destined to the same kind of somber existence, but part of him wanted to fight against it so badly. Gaze readjusted, happy to watch Cross's own quiet expression as though it might provide him some kind of solace to his heartache. 'The world doesn't need creatures like that.' Once again he shrugged wide shoulders, considering. "Who decides what the world needs?" he mused aloud. It wasn't like there was a set of guidelines, of rules for living laid out somewhere. "All I know is that life's not fair. Not at all." He flopped down on his belly near Cross, wondering if they ought to choose a more suitable place for a talk. Not in a field that smelled of blood and rot, maybe? "It's just funny, I guess, that by killing my father, more wolves will have to die now." It was a vague comment, though not at all threatening ... though it had the hint of a warning, of a prophecy of sorts. He didn't mind sharing, for as far as he knew, Cross had nothing to do with the orange wolf and the black wolf that had both challenged his parents -- and he knew his mother would avenge Kaios's death. Not just by killing Jupiter, but by killing anyone and everyone that she loved. "Whether it's wrong or right, that doesn't matter. If he had lived, even if he had killed a few men, raped a few women..." his voice trailed off. It was a grim reality, but not one he either detested or enjoyed. "I don't know if doing the right thing is necessarily all that honorable if more wolves die in the end." It was a deep thought, and not one that he was sure Cross would understand ... or even care to consider with him. And though his voice was stable, a fire burned in his eyes silently. If he wanted to do anything in the world, it was to avenge his father, for he felt indebted to him.

. . .


As far as their orange spectator went, Cross had had no idea she had been around. During the fight his attention had been too focused and afterwards his mind had been too full. Not to mention that he was only a yearling ? if a full fledged adult wanted to remain undetected, he would?ve really had to be searching for them or know their scent as Basilisk did. What the boy said made little sense to Cross, but the gravity in the other?s voice was too present to be ignored. They were already deep in conversation though, and neither seemed willing to break it off completely for the sake of seeing to the distraction.

What was being said was far too grave. And honestly, Cross didn?t like what the other boy had to say, but it was said in such a tone that he couldn?t find himself being irked towards Basilisk, just at the grim, hopeless logic that seemed to fuel the thoughts. Some of what he said made the white youth wonder... Some of it went too far. Some it was just true enough to hit home. Cross found himself looking at the purple eyed one, wondering what choices he would make and what path he was heading down. Cross didn't want to think that Basilisk could... But then what did he know. Only time would set the stage of their futures. -- A grim future from Basilisk's words. But something in Cross?s soul wouldn't allow him to heed all of it. As bad as the world was ? he wasn?t about to give up hope on it and say that anyone could just go off and do whatever they felt like. There were good wolves that deserved protecting. Otherwise what was the point of having strength?

For a long time Cross was silent. But then he raised his eyes from the ground, and his voice from its silence. ?Maybe someone just has to be the strong one who breaks the cycle.? It was a simple fact. And a challenge. Not just to his fellow male, but to Cross himself. Perhaps... perhaps he would be strong enough of body and character to protect those he loved without having to kill. Perhaps...






. . .

For the first time in a long while, Basilisk felt relaxed as he lay there on his belly, gazing at Cross with curious purple eyes. He was not threatened by him, nor was he uncomfortable talking to him -- if anything, he respected the other boy quite a bit, and felt as though he had found a new friend. An ally. And yet he still did not trust him fully, and would keep him at a safe distance until he knew he could trust him entirely. War.. the possibility of it was something that seemed to constantly loom on the horizon. He knew his mother had gained the trust of quite a few wolves; and he knew their were enough unstable creatures out there to simply jump at the mention of such a large battle. He wondered if it was a certain deathtrap, but he knew he was not comfortable with the idea entirely. Even if it involved killing Jupiter ... that was a task he had silently saved for himself. He vowed he would kill her, or die trying -- it was the thing that kept him going, the light at the end of his tunnel. He wondered if death, too, might be equally as gratifying. Absence of pain .. of consciousness. It was a grim thought, but one he had considered. 'Maybe someone just has to be the strong one to break the cycle,' Cross mused, and Basilisk averted his gaze, as though uncomfortable at such a notion. "Maybe," he said His mind wandered, knowing he could not share such things with Cross. Not yet. Maybe in the future. He valued his fellow male's opinion, and yet when he recalled his father's demise, he didn't give a damn about being strong or breaking cycles. Just about revenge. It burned deep in his soul, ignited once again by the bitch's presence her ... almost as though she was following him. "You say you descended from a wolf who was once known as a murderer? Tell me, Cross -- would you feel like you'd have to avenge him if someone killed him? Would you just leave it be? Or would you think he'd deserved it?" It wasn't a pressing question, but merely one poised out of curiosity.

. . .



Cross had left Basilisk with something to mull over, but it wasn't long before his own morals and thoughts were challenged with another question. Cross thought hard and long, taking his time in that battle scared land. "I'd say that would depend entirely upon why they killed him. If they were little less than a murderer themselves, taking a stranger's life for no reason other than entertainment in the suffering of others, then... no I wouldn't leave it at that. I've no idea what I'd do, but I'd want to go after them. However... if the other wolf challenged him to a fair fight and was doing so to try to rid the world of a monster and protect those around them..." Well that would be different, then, wouldn't it? "I'm pretty sure I'd still dislike them.-" The youth shrugged. "-But I go after them. I don't know, if my grandfather had remained evil and been a cruel creature towards his family perhaps I would've thanked the other wolf." Would it hurt the other youth to hear things so blunty put? He had asked Cross for his own opinion. And of course it could only be speculation. Guesses at a version of reality that could never come to pass. Cross had been lucky enough to be raised by good wolves. Even if his home had been anything but peaceful and secure, he could still thank his lucky stars for that.

Emerald eyes glanced up ever so slightly, and said in hushed tones, "I am sorry if that is not the response you wished to hear."



. . .

It wasn't at all surprising that Cross took a long moment to answer his question. However -- the answer wasn't exactly what he'd wanted. Basilisk had known for some time that his need to avenge his father's death was not exactly considered honorable, and yet why did he have to worry about honor? Eyes narrowed, watching Cross thoughtfully; the boy seemed to have grown up in a loving home, with thoughtful parents. Nothing at all like his home. Part of him envied him, but the darker side of him was grateful he did not have to be burdened by guilt for not wanting to suppress his most animalistic needs. A sigh left his lips, and he shuffled his paws uncomfortably for a moment/ "It isn't," he said glumly, but shrugged his wide shoulders aimlessly. "But if you just said everything I wanted to hear, I wouldn't find you very interesting." It was true -- what interest would he have in speaking to someone who had no opinions of their own? Even if Cross was different than him, the boy had earned his trust. It was rare to find someone who was both painfully honest and yet seemed to withhold judgement, two traits he appreciated -- and he had found impossible to find in others. A long pause followed. The silence was heavy, but not exactly awkward. Another sigh left his lips. "I should get going," he said, gaze drifting to the distant horizon. "You said your family resides in the northern lands still, right? Perhaps I could visit you sometime?" Their spar would definitely have to continue.