[open] - Don't be afraid when the Night Wolves cry -[M]

[Wyrm]

when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:

Lupei had aged, very much. Wyrm could see it in the grey along his muzzle and in the whites of his feral eyes. His sire’s mouth was wet with lather and his once thick (now mangy) black fur was stiff in his frenzy to fight. He was much too old to be of any use and from the looks of it, half raving with madness and riddled with disease. If Wyrm were the sort to be sad about things, this might be one of those instances, but he’s not so he only regards the beast with cool, uninterested eyes.

The old stallion could bait him as much as he liked. Death had finally come and there was no escaping it.

The green shape-shifter thinks for a moment about the others final words. “They’ll suffer.” Seems so droll and petty that he almost laughs. Almost. He knows, though, what the old wolf is capable of and that, in and of itself, is enough to give rise to a little shiver of disgust. The two haven’t seen each other in many, many years but Wyrm can only think of a few things to say in return. “Not while my daughter lives here,” and, “eat his heart out, Longclaw.” before he takes a swift, deliberate step to the side.

did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?