Sharp, glowing eyes were so focused on the dancing, twisting shadows that when a crimson form suddenly lunged from the brush, Vincent balked, his hulking, massive frame stumbling over himself and nearly falling to the ground. The beast's movements were rocky and uncertain, the subtle glow of his eyes increasing dramatically to a blinding light, and he truly had no idea what was happening as the sanguine form lunged for Claribel.

The said Wolfhound yelped in surprise, terror coursing through her veins as she was tackled and pinned, sharp jaws clamping firmly - but never harmfully - upon her scruff, tail instinctively tucking tight between wirey back legs. I'm sorry! Where he goes, I follow! I'm sorry, sister, but I will not leave him alone! Loretta. This was Loretta, her scent familiar and internal screams even more so, but while Claribel recognized her, Vincent did not.

He was hulking, heaving, terrified of the crimson beast that seemed to be attacking Claribel. Vincent's maw hung open, tongue nearly lolling, great, gasping breaths escaping his lips as terror struck him to his core. No. No. No! He wanted to act, to fight, to defend her as the hounds tussled and rolled, but he was frozen and powerless despite his greater size. Madness clung at his mind, robbing him of sanity, and he was oblivious to Claribel's desperate cries to reach him through his mind-numbing terror.

Vincent! Vincent! It is Loretta!

No. No. Stop.

'Vincent...'

His voice cut through the madness, through the terror, stopping the black monster in his tracks. Wide eyes swiveled about, nostrils flaring, ears perked forward at attention, focusing on the shadow that manifested from the thick foliage, and Vincent was surprised to see that it was no monster, no demon, not Her, but Archibald.

Archibald...

"A-A-Arch...?" Trembling lips could not finish the Dauntless' name. Even though he was taller, Vincent would always be far more insignificant than his twin. Still, the dark King moved forward, asking questions of his own, and as Archibald slunk forward and pressed his maw to Vincent's shoulder, he instinctively leaned into the touch, reaching down, desperate to breathe into his brother's nostrils, to seek that comfort and warmth offered only by his womb-mate. "I-I... H-Hiding." Hiding. Always hiding. Archibald would not judge him. He would understand.

He always understood.

Trembling. Scared. Meek. "S-Sorry. So sorry." But it seemed that his apologies were not good enough. Or maybe they were, and Vincent simply couldn't believe it. Archibald latched onto his neck, muttering a demanding, 'Stop running from me,' and Vincent breathed out a quivering heave of air.

"I am n-not running from you," he whispered, the glow of his eyes beginning to fade as the two monstrous equines stood so intimately close to one another, his racing heart slowing, "N-Never you." Always Her. "I came to f-find you. I n-need you."

"I've missed you."