forget all the names we used to know
He’d been patient, hadn’t he? Found his mother after the run-in with Gryffen, shouldered all that he could bear about his sire’s return, and then found himself at Circinae’s right hand for the rape of Sylva. It was uncharacteristic of his dam to be throwing her lot in with horses like the ones gathered near the entrance - Gryffen was a wild card, the other shifter a curiosity but still a lone wolf - it didn’t fit the persona his mother liked others to pin her with. Circi had always seemed to him a level-headed (if not overbearing) mare and this … takeover was simply adding fire to flame.
Crevan supposes that everyone has the urge to taste destruction at some point or another, even if it is only wafting the fumes. Just being here is like receiving a contact high, it makes the fur along the ridge of his spine crackle upright into stiff, tan spikes. Beside him, Circinae the mahogany wolf is only sitting patiently, intently, while the cacophony of mingled voices hums in the distance. They wait as best as they know how, with Crevan pacing and Circinae simply watching, until the clatter of movement approaching has both of their heads whipping simultaneously to the point of origin.
A gold-tinged mare breaks free from the dense wood to make a mad dash towards the border and with eyes following her trail, he and and his mother watch her continue until nothing remains but a scent. “Fleeing already?” The young wolf considers with a low whine, turning a massive head to his mother for direction. There’s hesitation written in the frown on Circinae’s brown muzzle and confusion littering her sparkling eyes but they have only two options remaining to them. In the distance, Jah-Lilah’s recognizable tone drifts to them.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” His wolf-mother snarls, snapping her teeth in agitation, “go ahead.”
Crevan is already running by the time she yells, “Be smart!” A pale streak of muscle and death, the young shifter rips through the golden woodland while the tremor of speech he had listened to earlier turns steadily to a crashing crescendo. He and his dam had gone unseen this whole time, that had been the plan - to wait and see who left and then close the net to finish the deal once things turned sour. It’s almost a pity that whoever lingers will have the nasty surprise of seeing him explode onto the scene.
A roaring howl breaks free from his chest, the sound short and sweet with the purpose of telling Gryffen’s crew: “I’m coming” Hesitation is gone, cast free now that his mother isn’t here to watch. He hears them clearly now, understands when a strange voice lifts above the others to say, “...Sylva will not suffer the same fate, not to your blackened heart.” before bounding into the gilded meadow. “Wrong answer, girly!” Crevan shouts as he bunches his legs beneath him.
He’d given himself away by voice and speech, but even then he doubts the roan-splashed, Sylvan leftover will stand a chance. If she’s lucky, she might even survive. These are passing thoughts as he flies through the air, leaping with a pink jaw opened wide to lay into whatever flesh he might be able to grip on the foolish girl. Blind to the rest of them Crevan only sees her, only sees red and not the colt she shelters -
And then the wolf is upon her, poor Raxaa, and the blood begins to fly.
revan