Through the eyes of his circling dragons, he watches the girl hunt. He watches her kill, as he had at not much older than she currently is. He, however, killed for mercy, or to feed his newborn companion. She kills for pleasure, or so it appears.

He approves. So do his dragons - although to them, the little wolf pup is as much prey as the raccoon it just helped slay. It requires quite a force of will for the stallion to prevent them swooping and devouring the tasty little whelp - for once, they are both in agreement that the young creature would make a delicious meal.

His commands both red and gold to turn their gaze on the filly, the pup's mistress. She is young, still wet from the womb, but beneath the penetrating eyes of the dual dragons, the stallion sees her become ethereal. Like a ghost, she is there and yet not, and his curiosity is piqued further. As a general rule, he has no interest in little girls, not until they become women ripe for him to take as his own. They are useless, lost in dreams of princesses and grandeur, and now he is a man grown he has no need of their company. The one exception is the white hybrid who he 'saved' from drowning, who kept him suitably distracted with her questions one afternoon.

Yet this mini murderess has captured his attention. Any child who can slaughter so easily at such a tender age is most certainly of interest to him - think what she could become when she's of age! He moves through the shadows, an ebony monolith in the labyrinth of trees. With his dragons to lend him an aerial view, he never has to worry about getting lost and wandering the maze of trees for eternity. Vadir alights on a nearby branch, claws digging into the bark and golden scales glimmering as she observes the situation below her with a lazily twitching tail. Her mind hums against Volterra's with a fierce intelligence that belies her age, and her regal head cocks from side to side as she scrutinises the filly and her wolf.

Vérzés, always more forward than his sister, lands upon the leaf-littered ground and scuttles towards the wolf pup. He snarls, his scaled red lips peeling back to expose savagely hooked teeth, whilst his leathery wings flare and draw him to his fullest height. He aims to intimidate, to frighten the fluffy little thing away from the dead raccoon so he can take it for his own - although he can feel Vadir's sharp crimson gaze on the back of his head, and knows he would have to act fast to get away from her before she tried to steal his prize from him.

The beast, meanwhile, ignores the reactions of his dragons and focuses instead on the filly. She's winged, and her lower face bears a white marking that makes the brute wonder if they are related. "So young to be slaughtering the innocent," he croons, fixing her with his feral ruby gaze. "Do you kill to feed your bonded, or simply because it's fun?" And there's no denying that it is fun, and satisfying, and that it lends one a sense of great power. To wield the scythe like the reaper, to command life and death itself...with Gashad's skull still stuck to his face, the earthen giant has an eternal reminder of his crimes, if he could call them that.