The reason Mauja had aspired for a crown was not power in itself. Power was a thing he was wary of, for it so easily led you down the path of selfish madness, where you would toss everything you held dear into the fire simply for the sake of another inch of ground, another cup full of poisoned wine. He did not command the hearts of others, but tried to be worthy of his position by virtue of his deeds - to make them follow out of love and respect, and not out of duty. Of course, he sometimes gave orders. How could he not? If he wanted order, he would have to issue a decree demanding order. If he wanted warriors, he would have to ask them to spar, train, grow strong and hardy and courageous. Passionate elitism lay at the root of his supremacy, not power itself.

But this creature gave him a taste of raw, unquestioning power. With blood they had sealed their bond, but the link was a tangible thing strapped around a black neck and held firmly between a white snow-beast's teeth. There was no questions, no hesitations, in the flaming eyes of his monster, just that spark of energy and life. Like hot embers, simply waiting for a gust of air to fan them into a blaze. While the mind resting inside that skull seemed dormant, the creature was no apathetic. The entire situation felt surreal, a shiver going down his spine again as the monster came to his feet without hesitation. The salty neck was lowered, the gaze averted, and he seemed to just wait. Mauja peered around the abandoned forest, trying to see if anyone was there to witness the strange encounter, but his eyes found no one and he gave a small shrug. He didn't know whether he liked this or not - it was thrilling, exciting, a totally new experience to, even if briefly, be in possession of a creature with such a mindless obedience... And what he was now, in complete control, was the total opposite of what he wanted to become. He did not want his herd on a leash. He wanted them free like the storm, wild and reckless like the thunder. He wanted them to be an earthquake, a landslide, but not directionless.

Was it so different?

Or was it just because he wanted them to want to be his landslide?

He looked to the black creature in front of him again. "Come," he growled around the rope; there was no anger in his eyes, in his posture, or in his voice, but he couldn't do anything but growl when he had a rope in his mouth. "Let'sh go home, shkrímshlið minn." He gave the rope another small tug, and started to walk towards the World's Edge.

( want me to add Monster to the herd and make a thread for us with them coming home? :3 )