Aros was unamused. In almost every sense of the word he was displeased, irritated, and in plain bad humor. It was a marvelous day, you see. The snow was thin, the air unseasonably warm, the sky clear, and all around him rang the sound of birdsong. It was absolutely abominable. How could any self respecting wolf make any sort of progress when his way was clear? He would much rather it be storming or freezing cold, or be set upon by a pack of enemies. How could he be expected to grow stronger, to find a mate, to sire a litter worthy of his father's noble name. He grimaced. His brothers probably had three litters by a strong wench by now. And here he was, still wandering the open wilderness, surrounded by blasted birds and sulfurous sunlight. It was shameful. He sat down with a huff and glared at the cursed willows which surrounded him. Gracefully, ever so gracefully, they drifted in the light breeze. Their branches slender, elegant, harmless. The bloody willow. A right pathetic tree, that one. No bloody use to anyone, he thought, though he knew perfectly well that chewing the trees leaves would cure you of a sore throat or head pains. Well it doesn't have any leaves right now, does it? his inner grouch bickered back, unamused by his reasoning. Right now, the willow was a useless tree and this was a useless day, and if he could curl up and sleep and pass it by until a decent one came about, he certainly would. "Speech," Thoughts,

A rumbling growl was just about to burst from the young male's throat when the wind carried to him an unusual scent. He turned sharply, just in time to see a pale ghost moving through the trees. He blinked once, slowly, reassessing his vision, but the specter remained. She was pale as the snow, and then some, so ethereal that the rose-like pigment, or lack there of, of her skin shower through. Her eyes were as red as rubies and filled with a fierce determination that immediately captured him. She carried a scent, delicate, but intriguing. Did ghosts carries scents? Surely not. This creature was real, corporeal, lengths away from where he stood. His eyes went wide. Perhaps this day was not such a lost cause after all. Practically stumbling over his paws in his haste, with all the dignity his two years could afford him, Aros scrambled after her. Her trail of course was not hard to follow, but she was next to impossible to distinguish from the surrounding snow. It wasn't until he was practically right on top of her, only a handful of body lengths away, that he skidded to a stop. Closer up, he could tell that this was no ordinary female indeed. She towered above him, her body rippling with impressive strength, her beauty unsurpassed by any lupess he had seen thus far in this luck-forsaken land. For a brief, terrifying moment, his voice stuck in his throat, and rasped when he finally forced his words out. "You there!" he called. "Shewolf, what is your name?" The desire to know overpowered him. Surely she came from noble blood, surely she would see the worth in his own noble breeding. He was Aros son of Bjornolf son of Asgeir of Ysgarion. She could not turn him down, certainly she had to be the one. She had to be. "Speech," Thoughts,

Aros stood up as straight as he could, puffing his chest out as the woman's languid voice fell upon his ears. Who was he? That she had given her full title impressed him, not only because of the weight it carried, but that she knew the importance of others know her importance. A princess, he mused. A fine creature indeed. It was his turn then, to convey the worth of his own blood. His lineage was ancient, of course. The Clan Ysgarion's were well regarded in his homeland and had been for many, many moons, but whether or not this would move her remained to be seen. And so it was that Aros drew himself up, hardening himself into the guise of a warrior, putting his father's face on display. In a deeper, more collected voice he responded to the fae. "I am Aros, son of Bjornolf, son of Asgeir, of the Clan Ysgarion, Lords of the Mountains of the Gods, favored of the goddess Nocla, revered and feared for hundreds of moons. I do not expect you to be so educated as to our feats, of course. But I can forgive that." It was a kindly deed, but he felt it no less than the female deserved, for her fine blood. She should be honored to stand in his presence. Were he speaking to a prince instead of a princess, it might even have been in him to bend a knee. As it was, he assumed cordiality would suffice for now. He would have to find a way to learn more of her before he breached his offer, wary of being too hasty. He contented himself for now in waiting for the fine fae's response. "Speech," Thoughts,

Aros got the sense that his blunt words upset the fae to a certain degree, but that did not much move him. She must have grown accustomed to such things by this point, and if not, more the fault on her part. She had not heard of his clan, but this was not surprising to Aros. After all, he had hardly met one cultured wolf in a dozen in this strange, barren land. The wolves seemed to breed haphazardly, fight on whims, and any sort of organization at all was hard to come by. Princess Impra, of course, seemed to be a lovely exception... For the most part. All too soon she began to speak of a pressing quest. That, of course, would not do at all. How could he woo a wolf he was not with? No, he knew he must go with her, this was not an option. He was prepared to force the issue, but to his surprise she offered. A pleased grin split his face before he could conceal it under an aloof guise. Instead, he reigned it into a smirk and said, "It would be my honor, Princess Impra. No lady of such impeccable breeding should wander this land without an escort. If for no other reason than to fend off the savages, of course, as I am quite sure you can fend for yourself.." One of the first lessons his mother had taught him was that the key to any wench's heart was flattery, and Aros was nothing if not suave. A benefit, perhaps, of confidant charisma. All he had to do was hope it worked. "Speech," Thoughts,

Aros' joy at the lovely fae's titling him turned rapidly to anger as her words pressed on. While a part of him worried he would off set her, he could not contain the rage in his roar. "Who dared to imprison you?!" he snarled, his baritone voice chilled and seething. His own anger surprised him, even if the under current to his thoughts did not: Who dared to imprison my future mate... He went on, anger uncontainable. "Speak only their names my lady, and I will hunt them down and rip them apart." A bit dramatic, yes, but he meant every word. In his Clan it was a grave insult to bring harm to a warrior's mate, paramount to a challenge for death. He would not stand for this. Neither, of course, would he let his princess wander this wild, barbaric land without him. His mind gnawed at the issue, and he grew more desolate, and more angry. He would have to wait, and damn the gods for it. He was not a patient brute, more attuned to immediate retaliation than cold, calculated revenge. If that was what it took, of course, then so be it. He turned to glare at the spot in the horizon he assumed she had appeared from, wishing he knew what lay beyond it. Wishing he had the time to search, or his brothers to fight at his side. The dishonor placed upon the Princess Impra could not be borne indefinitely. In his eyes, there was simply no other way. "Speech," Thoughts,

As expected, Impra did not react well to his anger, and thus he softened a bit, and farther yet as she graced him with a smile. He was glad his proclamation seemed to have earned him some of her favor. On a normal occasion, hearing she had lost a battle might put him off, but he felt no shame knowing she had lost to a queen. He did not suppose he could have battled the Clan Chief and lived, even if his father could. He was no direwolf, after all. This Valhallan queen must be fierce indeed, he thought quietly, but felt no less determined to strike her down. Perhaps some day he would get the chance. Voice nearly a whisper in comparison to his rage, he murmured, "Very well, then the healer alone shall be spared." Perhaps even thanked, if the mood was upon him, but that was doubtful indeed. He noticed a look of impatience in the princess' eyes, and soon enough she validated his suspicions with her lovely voice. If she wished to be off, who was he to stop her, despite his lust for Valhallan blood. He bowed his head, a quick, stiff bob, and smiled faintly. He was as eager to be off as she. "As you wish, my lady. Let us be off." He racked his mind for the courtesies his mother had taught him, and wondered at the practices of her own noble line. Surely they differed to some degree, but so far he thought he was doing well enough. That she had offered to return him to her home pack was luck in of itself. He wondered if he would have to battle her father for the right to her, as he would have to at home. Should he ask? No, perhaps not. Surely they had a long journey before them, he could consider it then. For now, he breathed deeply, enjoying his princess' delicate scent. "Speech," Thoughts,

Aros felt a certain pride in the Lady Impra's approval. He felt that he had done well, and while it was no fluke, it did nothing to lessen his joy. Impra was happy and hopefully with Aros by her side, a deal safer. He wondered briefly if the Valhallan scum would send a search party after her. He was about to question the nature of her escape, but her lovely vocals beat him to it. What were his plans? His fur heated with embarrassment, and he coughed out an awkward cough. Surely this was not the time to bring up his plans for her, he was not sure if she would approve. His father's voice echoed in his skull, saying, What matter is it if the wench approves? She should feel honored. But to his great surprise, this did not move him to speak. He was quite determined to keep Impra's good favor. But his princess was still waiting for a response. He coughed once more and rolled his shoulders, a shrug of sorts. "I haven't given it much thought," he lied. "At some point I shall have to return to my clan, but whether that day is on the horizon or not, I'm not sure." He cast another backwards glance at the land Impra had come from. Whether he left Alacritis a day from now or a year from now, he still had a job to do, and he would not forget. He sighed and turned back to Impra and said, "By your word, let's be off. The longer we linger the greater their border tempts me." That, and he could not know who or what might be on her trail. The thought darkened him some. "Speech," Thoughts,

Aros had no delusions that his evasions had satisfied the shewolf, but there was little more he could say until he had a better grasp of the situation. He offered her a grin and a shrug as they walked on. He found his mind wandering to the lands they would come upon. If he had crossed into Glaciem territory before now he hadn't known it, and he had yet to cone across a wolf with the same pack smell as Impra. He was quite curious to see what his princess' family was like, particularly the King. He cast a sideways glance at the large fae beside him. Would he be like her? Noble, regal, collected? Would he be like Aros' father, stern and fierce and violent. Would he have the same ethereal coat as Impra, that had so captivated him? All these questions he wondered, and then let slip away. It would be unbecoming of him to pry so early in their relationship, never mind his burning curiosity. He stifled it and walked on instead, raising his nose to the wind and all that stood before them. "Speech," Thoughts,