It was an early sunset, and the weather had taken a turn for the worst. With a bitter wind sweeping off the ocean, carrying with it the scent of brine. It was true, his coat did seem abnormally insulated and warm this winter. It felt thicker across his shoulders and chest, the fur plush and sturdy. Whatever the reason, it gave him added warmth in the season, and extra protection in a fight. A factor that was being tested, even now, as the Warlord slowly circled the tiger. Hunger must have driven it crazy, or it saw a lone wolf as an easy prey. Its initial leap had missed him, with Marshal's warning cry granting him the advantage. Now, the two of them were at an impasse, waiting for the other to make the first strike. It wasn’t bad thinking, that a wolf was an easy prey to a tiger. Standing at 47” it topped the giant Dire wolf, and ordinarily, its claws would be sharper and more deadly than that of a wolf. As they circled, its claw cut marks in the earth, and the incisions were mirrored by the path Sirius left in his wake. A gift, on a strange night, from a strange creature, had left the Warlord with claws like a tiger. One more circle, the creature hissed at him, daring him to make the first move. “Oh, well, if you insist.” the sooner he ended this, the sooner he could go home to his Wife and Children. With a snarl, he dived it, aiming to drive his shoulder into the crook of its neck. "Speech"

If Mikko knew anything, it was how to do his job. He'd been beaten into it as a boy, and it had lifted him to kingship as a rebellious adult. His position on the front lines had become somewhat of a comfort, even despite its dangers and the things it tended to do to him; just as feeling his flesh split and his blood spill was familiar to him, so was raising his hackles, a claw, and a tooth to anyone or anything who dared think they had the right to cause it. It was a job that allowed him to be angry, harsh, unforgiving..when he needed to be. It allowed him to be himself, even though he wasn't always happy with who that was.

The wind was almost enough to dampen his senses, but the thing about having one eye was that it made his smell and hearing all the better, to the point of being able to withstand the harsh winter weather. And there floated through the air an odd chorus of sounds that tugged at him--growls, roars, telltale signs of battle. They were nowhere near the borders he was tasked with watching, and yet with another gust, his pupil dilated into something feral, and he strayed from his post without a word or anything to leave behind as a notice to his pack mates...or Shiba.

There was something else reaching for him besides an audible excuse to blow off some steam. Smells. Smells which had more control over him than even his own strongest will.

Smells of his sister. His father.

He moved in a swift trot from the Nook, muscles flexing beneath tightly scarred skin and a string of saliva descending from one corner of his eager jowls. As he drew nearer, his maw parted, allowing the smells to flow more freely through his sinuses until he found their sources: a tusked wolf and his target, a tiger. Mikko didn't hesitate to throw himself at the feline, but this time, unlike his bout with Severus, this wasn't in good sportsmanship. No, it was greed. Whatever this male had to do with Acciona, for whatever reason he carried her presence on his pelt, he would be the one to deal with it. He aimed for the feline's rump opposite the wolf's point of attack.

""

table by Lowin art by kolokolchek

His shoulder dug into the felines with a heavy thud. The angry snarl of the creature vibrating through their connected flesh. It was beyond furious, and took no time to balance itself. Compromising security to satiate its hunger. it raised a heavy, claws paw and swiped at the Warlord. digging into his fur, and catching in the thick ruff oh his shoulder.

The Warlord drove his weight forward, knocking the beast further from its center of gravity. its teeth gnashed near his eyes, quick as a cobra. Sirius whipped his head away, catching a grazing of its teeth near the markings that doned his features. Sirius drove his head forward again, driving his forhead into its neck, and snapping its head away from weaker faciel points. At this point, the close quarter combat would have gotten dicey. with two collosal beasts bleeding thhe other until one fell

Instead, the tiger jolted as something struck it from the rear. Knocking its weight forward, and further into the Warlords shoulder. Sirius stepped back, and the cat almost fell. As it adjusted its footing, the Warlord lookked behing it, and found the well-scared, shorter wolf. the scent of the other man was hauntingly famailiar, but he had no time to pin it down. Instead, he delivered a brisk nod, acknolweding the presence of the other fighter, and slammed his paw into the cats shoulder, keeping it off balance with the claws blow.

With ease he struck his target, sending it stumbling forward and--inadvertently--into the forceful shoulders of the other male. In the process, there occurred between them a brief moment of eye contact that Mikko could've sworn lasted an eternity. The stranger studied him almost uneasily before acknowledging his presence with a nod, but the marred brute, with fresh blood now replacing the saliva that had repelled from his maw, reciprocated only with an unwavering stare as a panting tongue lashed out over a wrinkled nose. It wasn't that he didn't see the motion, but his mind had a way of filtering out everything that had the potential to distract or sway him from his true goal. Which...in this case, clearly or not, was absolutely not the tiger, even with its fangs and claws many times larger than his own.

The tiger was merely a nuisance, an obstacle keeping him from cornering this male and finding an answer behind the stench of Kyros on his pelt...and why it mingled with his sister's. And the sooner it was dead, the more patience he'd have reserved for its other attacker.

The wolf in question pushed against the tiger again, giving Mikko an opportunity to slice into it again while it was distracted. Tightening his hind limbs, Mikko launched himself forward, this time with the intention of grabbing it by the foreleg. His grip was merciless, his strategy far from clean as he aimed for its elbow and swung his body to align with its own--away from claw and tooth.

""

table by Lowin art by kolokolchek

The tiger had had enough of the Warlord. It bunched its muscles, and moved to leap. Sirius braced himself for the impact, knowing he would need to get it just right, to carry the Tigers momentum so he did not end up beneath the bigger beast. If the tiger straddled him, he would have a tough time staying alive. As it began to leap, things happened very quickly. The newcomer wolf got there first, wrapping his paws about the tigers for leg, trashing its balance. Instead of leaping, it took a nose dive to the ground. Sirius took advantage of the moment, and leaped on top of the tiger, scrambling and clawing until he straddled it with two legs on either side, and shoving it down with his weight. He gripped its scruff with his fangs, piercing deep with his saber-like teeth until he had a tight hold. Then, he wrenched its head backwards, exposing its throat to the stranger. He didn’t know the scarred man, but it was clear the other knew how to fight. He was trusting the stranger to finish the kill . "Speech"

The whole entanglement seemed to break apart upon impact. Mikko nearly fell forward with the tiger but dislodged himself from its elbow just in time for the other male to jump back in. As he scrambled over the top of it in an attempt to pin it beneath his weight, the scarred brute stepped back, a bloodstained tongue lulling out of his maw as he half-circled the pair in search of another opening. His gaze was feral, his pulse audible to his own ears as his heart sent a familiar drug pumping through his veins. Adrenaline always did well to quiet his thoughts--or, at the very least, simplify them enough to make them halfway comprehensible to his racing mind.

As he prepared another attack, the stranger did something unexpected, something that nearly--nearly--made Mikko falter in his step. The dark male pulled on the tiger's nape, sending blood down its neck and shoulders as its bare white underside shined before the brute like a beacon. So swift was his moment of pause that the other could have very well missed it, but no sooner did Mikko question the gesture than he strode forward and opened the feline's throat with a forceful gnash of his teeth. He drenched himself in the process, his front turning a glistening red, but it was only once the last signs of struggle faded away that he finally released his grip and backed away again.

But the look in his eye wasn't quite ready to go away. He was a little calmer, now, his initial surge of emotion satisfied for the time being after having been redirected to the deranged tiger, but the fact remained that this male still smelled of his family...and he still lacked answers as to why. In the back of his mind were echoes of Shiba's voice telling him about Acciona's past on Boreas, but with Kyros' stench also faint upon his pelt, he was unable to fully trust any of the connections his mind strained to make. Mikko's attention shifted to him, now, and he studied him intensely for a time, just barely giving him the chance to drop the feline and recollect himself before questioning him lowly, through tight, reddened teeth:

"Who are you?"

""

table by Lowin art by kolokolchek

The Warlord's senses were wired and alive, feeling every twitch of the tiger beneath him, bracing himself for the way it attempted to buck at him. Digging his claws in deeper between tendons, making each moment the tiger made painful. As he bared its throat to the other wolf, he would notice the slight tinge of hesitation, there and gone again. Like a question struck into the air between them, before a decision was made. He dove in, and made the kill. Opening the creature's throat as the tiger bucked again, using the last of its strength in the motion. The Warlord was almost unseated, but his razer-like claws dug in deep, and he rode the wave of motion out. As the creature settled, it let out a soft sound like a sigh, and fell limp beneath him. It had bled to death, and dretched the scarred wolf in the process. The Warlord disentangled himself, climbing off the tiger with a weary sigh. Adrenaline trembled through his veins, even for the Warlord, a tiger was never a sure thing. The need to keep it from his family had driven him, but that threat was gone now. Now, there was only Mikko. A stranger who’s attention was fixed on him, only a hair short from hostile. His blooded teeth so tight they were almost bared. The Warlord growled softly, rising himself back to his full height. He towered above the scarred wolf, and the comradeship that had woven between them from the shared fight would only go so far. This stranger wished to know who he was? Very well then. “Sirius Fatalis, Warlord to the Armada. Protector of those in my domain… rider of tigers.” there wasn’t so much as a hint of laughter in his muzzle, but there was a softening in his gaze. They stood on a precipice, on one side was friendship, the other enmity. The Warlord offered one small gesture of humor, and left it to the other wolf to take it or drive his point home. "Speech"

A lash of pink over black, brown, and glistening red. As the seconds ticked by, so did the adrenaline continue to drain from his veins, his rigid stance just barely beginning to thaw while the other male took his time dismounting and dislodging his teeth from their kill. But Mikko wouldn't move until his acquaintance raised his head to him, at which point his eye would simply flick upward to meet his own again. So tall, he was, not unlike the Xanthosi patriarch...and so vulnerable his neck. His pulse began to quiet in his ears, his thoughts taking precedence as he sifted through every possible way he could end this beast if he had to. So far, he had no reason, but that had the potential to change depending on the answer brewing behind the other's teeth.

Finally, he spoke up. "Sirius Fatalis," he said. "Warlord to the Armada. Protector of those in my domain. Rider of tigers."

Protector. Perhaps this Sirius was still a stranger to him, but Mikko didn't need to know him inside and out to know he wasn't affiliated with his father. Kyros would have spat on anyone who gave themselves such a title, much less anyone who would share in the glory of a kill. That left only one other possibility. With a huff that could have been mistaken for a halfhearted laugh, the brute blinked at last, allowing the rest of his tension--whatever he didn't naturally carry--to melt away, and offered the other a single nod.

"Mikko Romanov"--fallen King of Avelun; servant to Shiba Klein; failed son, brother, husband, father, and friend--"brother to Acciona...and slayer of steeds." A man of few words, his voice creaked and cracked, unraveling itself like a dried-up hide. "You've been sheltering her, then."

""

table by Lowin art by kolokolchek

Sirius remained alert and ready, his words a question between the two of them. Peace, or war. As increment by increment moment by moment, Mikko began to relax, Sirius let out a breath, and rolled back his shoulders. He could feel it, the moment had passed. The other wolf huffed a laugh, and offered his name. Mikko rang a bell in his brain, and then he said his relation to Acciona. Considering who her father was, family did not mean the man was an ally of Sirius - but he remembered then, where he had heard his name. "My brother Mikko was with the man who captured me as well. He was severely injured but after a while we were able to escape together… “Sheltering her? No. I’ve given her a home. She is mine, now.” there was no hesitation in Seer’s voice. Once he claimed a wolf, he did not let them go easily. He would always protect her, keep her safe, and train her. “She spoke of you, so I know you were not a part of kidnapping her. We are not enemies, you and I.” "Speech"

"She is mine, now." Those words were the only ones to echo through his mind at first, loud and amplified by past experience of what they used to mean. They used to mean something so vastly different, so cruel. They'd been used to take away their individuality, their free will, to cripple them and make them bend to Kyros' will. Mikko had been his, for a time, after he'd taken away everything and everyone else with which Mikko could've claimed any connection, all the way down to his own strength and mobility. His pack, his wife, his friends....There had been a point where Mikko was nothing but his. His father's.

But this was different. All of this was different, including his own new living situation. He needed to remember that.

Slowly the words faded, leaving him staring absently toward the ground. "No...," he finally uttered. "No, I wasn't. We're not." Mikko's single eye flicked upward again, though, with a new question behind it. Still feral, still sharp as a pin as it looked into Sirius' blue ones, but this time there was more apprehension than anything. It narrowed, quaked a little before steadying upon him. "So what do you know?"

""

table by Lowin art by kolokolchek

The gaze of the other wolf seemed locked on the earthy soil beneath their paws. A distant faraway glaze to his eyes. No doubt he was remembering the pieces of his past that connected to their current conversation. There was nothing pleasant about them, from what Sirius understood. The Warlord got it, it couldn't be easy. He had been locked into a bleak past himself before coming here. He had been a slave, and he had molded his personality on the situation he was stuck with. He had lived in a cruel world, and he had been a cruel wolf. Now he was an Alpha, a warlord, and free. He was greedy and possessive, and those that were in his pack belonged to him/ but he protected and cared for them. With him, they were safe.

A dark satisfaction entered his voice, as he lowered his gaze to Mikko. There was a cruel smile on his lips that seemed a little different to the expression he had held before now. The Warlord did not take well to anyone that toyed with what was his. “Here is what I know: When she was taken, she was mine. I did not know where she was, and had no leads to follow. But, when she returned to me, I had her help me. She led me to Enno, and I bled from him the whereabouts of Kyros. Then I bled him some more, just because I could. I found Kyros, and left the bodies where they fell.” It was more than they deserved, the bastards.