The Warlord did not find it terribly comfortable to be back in the den he and Zee had set up together. The reminder of her was everywhere, despite his best efforts to push it away. The easiest thing to do was to throw himself into training the wolves of Armada. And his efforts were spent concentrating on his children. Gearing them up for the world ahead. A bitter world, one that would take their mother from them.

Today, he had Stratum with him. It almost physically hurt to look at his son. With his pale coat, blue saddle, and little horns. It was a struggle to hide it from the boy, and he was perhaps a little more tough on the young wolf then he needed to be. “Right. Today, we are concentrating on border patrols” He told the boy. “There has been something near our scent borders lately. I want you to identify it, and lead us to it” He said, stopping them near the scent of coyote, and waiting for Stratum to pick up the scent.


"Sirius Fatalis"

Ever since they'd returned to the familiar caves and valleys of the Armada lands, his father had seemed... distant. He didn't hold him or offer gentle kisses like he had before.. before mom died. Instead, Sirius brought him on training forays. For the life of him, the young male couldn't figure out why. All he'd wanted for weeks had been to cling to his family for comfort as they all struggled with the reality of their mom's death. Regardless, he would welcome any attention from his father. So off they went together, the chubby pup trotting along to keep up with his father's quick pace and longer legs. Already his siblings were beginning to show their size, and he found himself on the small side. Bulkier than his sisters, easily, but he wasn't getting as tall as them. Lame.

The golden prince listened keenly as his father explained the day's exercise. Tracking down whatever had been encroaching on the borders. Seemed easy enough! When the dark furred titan came to a halt, Stratum lifted his gunmetal gaze briefly upwards. The expression he was met with was stoic as usual, waiting for him to make his first move. And so he did. Heavy crown lowered towards the terrain, pulling in deep breaths as he sought out the unfamiliar notes. His siblings, his cousins, the wolves whose scents reeked more strongly of the pack than even his... nothing unusual yet. Thick limbs pulled him along the outskirts of the woods, searching out the feeble threads that didn't match the rest.

There! Stale, he would guess just a few days old. They crossed over one another, numerous variations with an overarching aroma. A pack of.. foxes? No, the smudged prints in the dirt at the base of a thick conifer were a bit too big. One of them must have lifted their leg against the tree here, and the scent was much stronger. "Oh! They're coyotes!" he announced with a grin, whipping around to beam up at his father. This was fun! Much as he wanted to wait for approval, he knew his orders. It was better to just follow whatever his father had told him to do, and hope he was praised later for his diligent work.

So off he went, trundling through the snow with his head held low to the ground. It was easier to keep track of the scent trails that way. It was less distinct than when he tracked his family through the caves, a half dozen or so faded paths crossing over one another and veering this way and that. He was following the general guide of their movements, rather than a distinct pathway. It felt like he was walking for hours, leaving the dense woods behind in favour of open terrain. It wasn't until a chorus of raucous, yipping howls drifted to him on the breeze that he was certain he was doing this right. He'd done it!

The blond youth paused in his tracks, lifting his head to look over his shoulder at where his father was following along at a distance. "So what do we do now?" he asked, keeping his voice low so it didn't alert the pack that seemed to be growing closer. After all, he'd been tasked with tracking them down. There hadn't been any indication of what he was supposed to do after he found the little pack.

"Stratum Fatalis"

The Warlord held himself a little aloof from the tawny little pup. A part of him wanted to scoop Stratum up, and hold him tightly to him. That part of him was the one likely to go a little unhinged, and he knew he couldn’t indulge it. So he embraced the other side of the scale, the one that had him keeping his distance, and looking at the boy with a careful eye. An instructor, not a father.

It didn’t take Stratum too long to find the scent, latching onto the trail of the coyotes. He gave a short, approving nod, and followed after Stratum. The boy took to the trail and led them in the right direction. The pup correctly guessed that the yipping racket of the coyotes signified that they had reached their quarry. “Now, we teach them why this territory belongs to the wolves.” He explained to his boy. Placing himself just before the other wolf as he considered their approach. “Coyotes are opportunists, and cowards. Take the lead, and draw them out. When they approach you, run to where I will be hiding, this will drive them towards me. Once you reach me, circle to the side and attack their backs while they are distracted.” He decided. Bast was lurking quietly in the woods to their right, she would keep the boy safe as well.


"Sirius Fatalis"

The part of him that had been waiting for adulations and praise from his father was crushed when none was offered, and shrunk fractionally deeper into his psyche in that moment. The remainder of the golden prince's attention was focused on his sire, and the confidence of his stride as he pushed ahead to survey the landscape around them. Stratum paid keen attention to his father's instructions, glancing occasionally this way and that to see if the pack had gotten any closer. They hadn't broken over the horizon yet, so the upper hand was not yet lost. When his orders were given, the chubby youngster bobbed his head in solemn agreement. That all seemed easy enough. He wasn't being ordered to attack them head on, all by himself. Anything else was manageable. Gawky limbs propelled him through the snow as it grew ever deeper in correlation to the thinning tree cover, searching for the darker brown pelts of the coyotes around each tree he passed.

The raucous yipping reached a crescendo as he came upon the group. Half a dozen, just as he'd thought when he tracked them. Smaller than he was, which was a bit of a shock. He'd seen one or two stragglers near the boundaries of the pack in previous months, and they'd seemed so much bigger. Regardless, he stopped where he stood and waited for them to notice. It didn't take long, and one by one six pairs of eyes turned on the young male. They were painfully silent now, though their bodies quivered with an anticipation of the hunt that he could see even at a distance. Puffs of mist that surrounded their jaws with each breath grew thicker and more frequent as the pack fed on one another excitement for the hunt. Soon their yellow eyes were nearly invisible through the fog of panting breaths that wreathed their faces.

Why he didn't run immediately was a mystery. It took the sudden lunge of the first coyote springing into motion to drive the blond youth into a run, loping back the way he'd come. To where he knew his sire waited to spring the trap. Safety. His own breath escaped his shuddering lungs and exploded into a fine mist around his snout with each heavy stride. Keeping half a mind on his tracks from the clearing, and the other half on the frenzied hunting party that threatened to overtake him at the slightest misstep. And yet. He never felt so sure of his footing in his life, save for this chase. He couldn't help but grin as he led the pack right into the trap, springing straight into the cover of the undergrowth as he passed the looming figure of his dark furred sire in the clearing.

Time for part two. Much slower this time, he kept his horned skull lowered as he crept around the fringes of the treeline to flank the pack that was just now tearing into view.

"Stratum Fatalis"

The Warlord crouched in wait, tracking the movement of his pup with care. Marshal glided on silent wings above him, and he knew without looking that Bast was stalking through the snow. Keeping Stratum in her sights. The white leopard was nearly invisible in the snow. When Stratum reached the coyotes, he tensed. The stiffness of his body rolled through him as the boy paused there. Poised, motionless. Move! he ordered silently.

And then Stratum was off. Leading the coyotes towards him. His paws hitting true, his pace a controlled lope. Price zinged through Sirius as he stood at the exact moment Stratum reached him. Startling the coyotes with his towering form as he rose above the snow. Five managed to pull on their brakes, but the one in the lead almost collided with him. Sirius took the easy kill. Lunging forward as the coyote struggled to adjust to the sudden change. Grabbing it by the neck and digging his elongated fangs deep into its throat.

He released the dead creature, and turned his attention to the other coyotes, which had fanned out in front of him. Bast lunged at one. Rising silently from the snow and giving them their second fright. Sirius used the distraction, charging at another and dispatching it as quickly as he had the first. Even as Bast killed the one she had locked onto. Three down, two to go. He would let Stratum get in a kill as he rounded on them from the back.


"Sirius Fatalis"

It was hard not to pause while he moved along, watching the ease with which his father dispatched a coyote as it strayed too close. His companions moved in tandem with practiced synchronicity, the pale cat lunging from where she'd crouched in the snow to dispatch one of the tawny canines. He was so used to seeing his father's companions as friends and playmates, it was jarring to be reminded of their deadly skill in battle. He picked himself back up and skirted the clearing. The crunch of packed snow beneath his oversized paws was easily drowned out by the fray of the pack fighting for their lives, and he gained the element of surprise.

The golden prince burst from the undergrowth with his sabre fangs bared, and took the back legs out from one coyote with a swipe of his massive forepaw. That left him with an opening while the smaller canine struggled to its paws again. He pinned it in place beneath his heftier bulk, one paw placed over its hips as he lunged to latch his teeth into its neck. He had to really dig his teeth in, clenching his jaw muscles with all his might to sever the arteries as he cut off its windpipe. With each moment its frantic struggling grew more feeble, until he felt safe to release his grip and let the blood loss do the rest.

Heavy skull lifted as the young male looked to where he knew the other coyote had been standing, now alone on the field of battle. He'd been too focused to notice if his father had taken care of it or not, but already the boy was in motion to close the distance between them. Ah, there it was. As he suspected, his father had taken care of the straggler. He'd have to get better at this if he wanted to keep pace with the Warlord. Blood dripped from his pale blond maw as he grinned up at his sire. "We showed them!" he announced, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins.

"Stratum Fatalis"

The fight was slower and longer than the usual predator battle the Warlord fell into. He was taking his time, giving Stratum a chance to join in, and see the moves Sirius employed. This battle was less about the coyotes, and more about teaching his son. When the Prince leaped into the frey, Sirius was careful to keep him in his peripheral. He saw some of the fight, and was proud of the boy. He showed no hesitation, and no fear.

The battle had wrapped up, and the snow around them was stained with the stench of the dead. “We did indeed. Good job today, Stratum.” He said, leaning over and cuffing the boy gently on the back in acknowledgment. “Kick snow over the blood. We don’t want to attract any other predators.” He said, as he began to grab the bodies.


"Sirius Fatalis"