Wolfbane

Talking with Gansey, though it’d been far from what he expected, had been exactly the thing Wolfbane hadn’t known he needed. He’d kept to the choppy skies over Tephra long enough, floating in and out of its volcanic, black plume just to gather soot on his gold-and-blue striped hide. Perhaps the island was getting too small for his ever-growing wings, or perhaps the unexpected, rapid decline of his sire’s health had something to do with it.

Whatever the case, he’d flown the coop without solid plans to return and found that the not-knowing of his future was a rather exhilarating sort of feeling. Dreams and youth are notorious bedfellows; stirred together within him they gave Wolfbane an optimistic high. He hummed to himself because he could, the barest pearls of white against his lower lip flashing every now and then with a high note. They were fangs, still growing to their full potential and oddly fitting given his exotic look.

It’s only when he steps into the clearing that his visible form really shines.

Quite literally, the gold of his natural palomino coat was stunning - rich and tinted like a newly minted coin. Set against the iridescent blue stripes that ran in jagged uniformity from neck to croupe, it was hard not to look at him when he chose to be seen. Everything about Bane seemed … excessive; the added wings, upright mane, and pinprick fangs only gave rise to further questions.

Wolfbane was a genetic oddity.

But such was Beqanna and her often flamboyant tendencies. In this case, at least, it would do the growing colt some good - he might (for once) attract the attention of someone who could change his fate ...

Wolfbane

Trust me, Wolfbane is much more interested in the fact that someone does indeed approach him rather than him having to seek out his own company. In his naivety, he doesn’t immediately see through the guise of Arthas’ unexpected kindness, he only sees what’s right in front of him: A stallion, grown and marked by life’s adventures, and not just any old world-wise stallion either … a King.

It’s not his first time meeting one. Warrick was once as close to his father Longclaw as one could hope to be to a royal, but somehow this seems different. Perhaps the novelty of Warrick’s title wore off after seeing him being so normal all the time, and this ‘Arthas’ certainly acts different. He wants to know why Bane is here, but won’t hold the young Tephran’s gaze for too long. (“This is my chance,” The boy thinks, “I can’t bore him with my daddy issues.”)

“I’m looking for … a new life.” The striped youngling replies, boldly. “You say you’re the King of Loess, the hilly kingdom, right? Can you prove it?” Wolfbane wants to know.

Wolfbane

If it meant that he would run into kings and the like, then yes, Arthas was correct in saying that finding one’s own path was exciting. Wolfbane liked that word, and truth be told, he liked this ‘Arthas’ fellow, real King or not. 

Most haughty, worthless beings who claimed such a title and then found that same title challenged would feel threatened, forced to respond in turn with anger or retaliation … but the sooty gray turns it into an invitation, which, kudos to him, works almost too well.

“Oh that sounds like good enough proof to me, for sure.” Bane quips rather quickly, more than eager now to get the show on the road. Forget formalities, (And he so obviously had forgotten them) Loess was waiting - and with it, the promise of a new chapter in his life. There’s also an added bonus in their choice of destination: Just north lies a kingdom that houses a certain, memorable character from his childhood. (“She’d be shocked by a visit.” He thinks fondly.)

“My name is Wolfbane, sir. I was born in Tephra - but don’t worry, up until this point I was too young to be of much use around there.” He shrugs, an expectant grin brightening the earlier look of hesitation, “Hopefully that’ll change, if Loess is really where you ‘hang your crown’.” The boy jokes, stepping aside to allow Arthas the lead.