brother in sin and abasement

for papa @Vengeance, other tags are for reference though welcome to join in!

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It was raining, again. The inclement weather didn't mean much to Tempest in truth, though he found it a fascinating thing. The sounds of the woodland that he could hear at the den mouth were intriguing too—the way fat raindrops hit leaves still clinging to trees, the way it sounded as it hit the cool earth; even the autumnal pelage of the world was eye-catching. It was peaceful, though he couldn't have claimed the noises behind and beyond him were exactly that.

Though he had the urge to snake slither a little more into the open, he knew that @Morag was watching. His mother had a keen eye and a barbed tongue, but he had no qualms in believing that she had sharper teeth. Somewhere he was quite certain that he heard @Lilith carrying on, going through a phase of echolalia; he could heard the growling and ruckus of his brothers still in the midst of play-fighting that he had not wanted any more of. He didn't bother trying to decide if it was @Goliath or @Leviathan still going at it, or if @Piglet had laid siege.

And for all he knew, it could have been his sister. Truth be told, he didn't really pay much attention either. As the wind picked up, more leaves broke loose of their nimble branches, rocketing down to the earth with the renewed gusto of rain to chase them. The sun, though hidden behind heavy clouds, was already rushing towards evening and in that waning light the forest seemed far darker and drearier than it normally was. And somewhere, out there, he did not realize that a shade lurked.
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^^

They were growing quickly, and none had perished since their birth and unfortunate quick end of their siblings he had deemed were only half - with the assistance of Aries' interference. 

Though he would not assist them in their growth, he was growing more interested in them as the days went on. Every day they lingered the more inclined he was into beginning this journey into "fatherhood" if one was to call it that in the means he would accomplish such things. They would truly be the first to be raised by him in the end. All others before them were left behind in his wake to be raised by the bitches who fell in his grasp and lived to birth them.

Autumn must have come as the skies gave away to rain more often than not... The wet season has come with the dying of the leaves and soon snow would flutter down instead. For now, he was drenched as he watched Morag's whelping den. The rain sleeked down his darkened coat and ran down his face to drip off his chin. One, in particular, had caught his crimson eye as they approached the mouth of the den. He had not learned of their names just yet, and would only care to do so in another month or two.

Rising from his seat, Vengeance approached with an idea in tow... perhaps this one would be the unfortunate first to be tested. The first to be trained under his eye.

It didn't matter what Morag wanted or thought of his ways. Their children would grow to be warriors and nothing more. With a glimmer in his eye and head held low to meet that of the plump whelp, he approached with steadily drumming paws.

^^
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Through the faint mist, a figure began to conjure and come into focus. Tempest did not take stock of him immediately; it was the parting of the ferns and wilting grasses that grabbed his attention, framing the figure of the wolf he would perhaps come to know as father. The wolfish figure was on the prowl and having been sequestered away with sight or sound of others so little, the boy felt his fur prickle along his nape and spine instinctively. Yet he did not recoil in fear or rise to meet the approach of such a darkened, almost too goliath figure—a curious expression overtook him instead, his little nose working the air only to be met with a cutting, acrid scent with the shift of the breeze. Nary a sound left him, for he was yet too young to know to raise the alarm about relative strangers creeping in, nor could he take his still baby blue-eyed gaze away.
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So sorry for the wait! I'd love to continue this if you're okay!?

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The whelp did not recoil from his approach, instead, he held steady as the one who had given half of who he was approached. He had eaten a good portion of his siblings, if the child was aware of such a detail, would he act differently? Would he cry out for his mama in fear of disappearing into the great abyss like the others? Or did that strong bloodline course through his veins make him cold and uncaring to the unforgiving fate that had befallen what Vengeance considered only to be half this child's blood relatives?

As soon as the Warlord approached, he'd waste no time in grabbing the whelp by the scruff and wandering away with him in tow. There was little tenderness in his graces, only enough to not puncture the youth's skin and bring fourth infection - at least Vengence knew enough not to do such a thing and take unnecessary risks... well sometimes.

With one of his sons he'd wander away from the den and place the child down just out of sight from what was his home and immediately turning away to wander back from where they came from. The child would have to figure out his own way back. Either trying his best to follow the elongated steps of the adult man who had placed him out here - or by trying to use his dull senses. Regardless of how he would figure it out, Vengeance would make his way back to the whelping den and wait for the child to either prove fruitful in this little test of his, or cry out and wait for Morag to come and fetch him.

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It was not a cry that left him when he was scooped up from the earth—it was a throaty snarl. His muzzle wrinkled, hackles prickling as he bristled and bared his teeth. But his simmering rage at this disruption and this unfamiliar figure would do little; such things were just as unaffective with his mother.

Tempest learned that it mattered naught, amd he was held tightly for what was an eternity for a child. The ground found its way beneath him again, uneven and unforgiving in the struggle that followed to right himself. And he did with sound and fury—muzzle wrinkling again—only to find his captor was abandoning him. The dark figure was aught more than a ragged tail, swallowed up by overgrowth that rose impossibly tall. An enticed huff left him, only then feeling the thundering of his heart coupled with emotion he did not rightly know the name of.

But how dare!

The boy stumbled into the mist and growth, after the goliath figurine, intent to catch up and sink his teeth into that wisp of a tail. A fruitless endeavor, given the time he would invest, but the dark-haired boy was imbued with determination he scarcely knew he possessed.
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The boy was full of vigor at least. He growled and fought back as much as someone of his age could do - although it would do nothing to the adult that held him by the scruff, it was at least a good sign for him. But how far could this little spitfire go? How deep did this fire of his burn? Was it only a little flickering flame, or an inferno waiting to be released?

He sat by the den waiting to see if the child would return on his own. Ears drawn forward to listen in and see if he would begin to cry out… nothing. The mist remained silent after the little growls died down.

With what little patience he had in this world, he would remain at the mouth of the den. Saying nothing, only watching for the boy and listening. Even he knew it took time for the young to move and that if the boy was making his way back it would take longer than it normally would. After all they had short legs that were barely used and little stamina that was built up to this day.

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Come on Tempest, I BELIEVE IN YOU SON

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Ahead of him where the grasses parted, the mist seemed to coil and crawl along the damp earth. He went haphazardly through a puddle, though the mud did little to tarnish his speckled coat. He came to a stop at one point, his nose working the air in a fervor that turned up nothing, and his anger had already begun to wane as reality set in.

Whoever the stranger was, it was uncertain that he would catch up to him. Not now anyway. He was far too young, too small still to have that sort of stamina for such a task… and perhaps most importantly the attention span for it. Reality was setting in—this was a completely new place altogether. Further than he had ever been from the den and yet, without knowing it, not at all that far off from it either.

But between the rain and the ever present haze in their neck of the woods, the world had become a vastly different place. Tempest observed these things, panning his gaze skyward and squinting at the shift in light, and carried on. He had no reason to fear much, lest his mother realize he was absent, and assuming she would care. As for the shadowy figure? His temper would find the better of him once again when he found him.

If he found him. He hadn't caught his scent again yet.
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The haze was still and silent as he peered out into the mist, waiting to see if the small boy would come stumbling out while finding his own way back to safety. The silence was broken by the sound of a puddle being wadded through clumsily. Ears shot forward to listen in to the small movements, studying to see if the boy was going off course or steadily finding his way back by using his still developing senses.

As silence returned with no visible or further audible signs that the boy was finding his way back, his father's already thin patience was beginning to wane. He had unrealistically high expectations of his youth, even now he thought the boy would have already found his way back or at least worked on it faster than he was.

To be his child was unfair. There was no loving relationship, no coddling or understanding. These children who were so unfortunate to draw the short straw on the family lottery were cruel - and it wouldn't end until the warlord drew his final breath.

What a shame. He thought to himself, rising to his feet as he kept his eyes on the location he left the child just a little longer. Should no signs of his approach be clear, his father would surely leave him to die out there or for @Morag to figure out what had been done and rescue their young herself.

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Something shuffled—he knew the noise, that impatient shift of limbs. Only he knew it not to be his father, rather he associated that noise with his mother, oft right before she'd come to snatch them from whatever mayhem they were making. He had been on the sharp end of that result a time or two before and it hadn't taken him long to know that sound was something to be ready for. Yet in this instance, it was distant enough that he did not fear some rebuttal in the form of a pearly maw reaching out for him.

So logically, he believed someone else was on the receiving end.

It delighted him only because he took enjoyment early in the protesting squeals of his siblings. Life was lay out like a twisted game, rogue-like in its existence where every day was not the same as the one before it. Fortunately for Tempest, perhaps, he had not gathered the experience to know that his own existence in the world was one and done. He'd never learn all the steps without caution, assuming he kept the opportunity to do so. The sound would be enough to lure him in, pulling him along as a growl bubbled up in his chest. Another tangle of weathered terrain, of their grasses and tiny pitfalls not enough to devour him whole.

The mist parted as he course corrected and the cutting figure of his father, the stranger he was, began to take shape. The hackles along his spine rose and with it continued the gurgling rumble that could belong to no other than a child. With a furrowing brow to set his expression, the boy had a decision to make. Did he try and charge him? Or it would it be better to keep his distance? More importantly, why hadn't anyone else come to run this hulking menace off?
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We can end this here if you wanna! We can have a new more recent one anytime you wanna 8)

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Rustling in the nearby brush had brought his remaining attention to look over his shoulder and see the little whelp come walking out. “Ah. So you are not useless after all.” He muses to himself lowly, uncaring if the child understood language just yet to hear him.

Whatever was left of his curiosity was ignited as molten rubies lit up for a moment as the boy's hackles rose and a clear distaste for what has been done to him was made evident with the growl that cut through the silence. Not only did he choose to find his way back, but there was a fire in his belly that was ready to be stoked.

Good, they could put that to use.

The boy had found his way back and could be seen by Morag, he could make it all the way back to his den on his own - Vengeance thought as he continued to wander away. If the whelp wasn't so young still he would have brought the prize of food for fighting through the test - but alas, his father had no milk to give and meat was not yet on the menu for someone as young as he.

Maybe another time. For now, the boy could rest with his mother as the Boss would come back another day to test the other children.

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