I feel the rage -Open/Scorch-

[Banshee]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/bback-2.jpg] The young wolf travelled through the forest, silent and graceful for one so young, his movements were full of intent and purpose. The fur bristled on his back as the shadows from the large plants fell upon his back, his paws landing in moist soil and concealing the noise from his approach. It was falling evening and the sun was casting the jungle in a bloodied glow, reflecting eerily through the vegetation and creating and disorientating mesh of shadows that Banshee ignored. He had a place to go today, and being late was not a good idea, in fact it would probably merit him a more vicious beating. Banshee had just turned 6 months, but already he appeared older due to his size, and most might have placed his age at 10 months. His pelt had received its final markings and the young male now walked about with a confident stride, proudly showing off the metal grey stripes that stabbed downwards from his spine, his blood red tipped ears and the beautiful deep blue that graced his maw. The rest of his jet black pelt covered his body in a flowing river of shiny ink, soft and silky to the touch it was certainly something to be proud of for the pup. He just knew that he would be even bigger than his father and in his demonic dad`s footsteps the little pup would follow until he built his own reputation and made his name known. His hunting skills had dramatically increased under his father`s critical eye, and now the Don trained his son to be the seasoned killer Scorch was known to be. Unlike most pups that spent their days frolicking about without care, Banshee was being instructed in the art of survival, the trade of pain and the mastery of killing. He would grow up believing that fighting was fun, that demonstrating he was the strongest wolf was the only way to prove his worth. Creature prey was always his target during his training session, but he killed them in the similar fashion that a wolf might latch on to his enemy and Banshee took to the sport with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. The young wolf was already anticipating his first wolf kill, fighting a being that he could understand and the triumph of knowing he had defeated an equal. He had always just wanted to make his parents proud, but now he wanted to do better, he wanted to surpass them and any wolf that had ever proclaimed to be a killer. He stilled missed his prey on occasion, but with his father instructing him how to camouflage and move silently in the dense jungle brush he was quickly catching on how to counter these discrepancies. On occasion his father would fight wolf to wolf with him, and these were the sessions that Banshee loved and hated the most, for his father always won but every time the pup felt his resistance growing. He eagerly awaited the day when he would surpass even the Don to move on to bigger prey until he was even more feared than his father. To outside eyes these sessions looked like vicious beating, the smaller youth coming away in bloodied heaps, but to the pup it was a symbol that he could put up with more pain than others. His father had continually pounded the importance of being able to take a hit into him, and every session now resulted in worse injury, his mother always healing him afterwards, so that Banshee would not only know how to inflict pain but understand the consequence of it as well. Sometimes the young prince of darkness hated his father for these sessions, hated that he never received a word of approval unless he managed to tear a chunk of his own father`s flesh. In fact, Banshee was beginning to enjoy inflicting his dad some of the pain that the pup received, and this frightened him greatly. Some days he would curl up alone in his own small den and whimper, torn with guilt that he enjoyed causing the wolf he loved pain. His family had forced him to find his own den as soon as he was old enough, and the Don had professed that if his son could not catch his own food then no wolf was to feed him. Little did he know that his father was purposely instilling this desire to enjoy the kill in Banshee, Scorch needed a wolf to carry on his legacy, and a whimpering son would not do in this case. If anything he needed to train his son to be more merciless than himself, to teach him to use his hate and harness the power that resulted from it. But Banshee did not know this, could not understand it at such a young age, all he saw was a father that continually pushed his son, forced him to endure more than any other pack member. In fact his father treated other members better than his own son, and Banshee began to hate them as well, when he took over he would show them all that he was the one to be feared and all would bow down to his mercy. A loud growl escaped his throat, unusually loud and deep for one of his age, and echoed into the underbrush. It was on this day that he was going to engage in another session with his father and he would taste blood this time, needed to and the youth`s eyes glowed with a mature level of hunger terribly uncommon for a pup. Scorch was succeeding with his training; he was creating a monster. B a n s h e e 's . S o n g

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[Scorch]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/SBACK-26.jpg] Speaking Scorch made his way back from patrolling the boarders in the direction of his preferred location, the Sink Hole. Dangerous and filled with misgivings, it was a part of the territory that not many wolves trod upon, and it was for this reason that the Don preferred it; it was his part of the kingdom. His border patrol had not brought anything of interest to his day and so it was without reserves that he left his pack duties to perform that of his fatherly duties. Today another session with Banshee was to take place, Scorch hoped the boy had learnt something from their last, the headstrong pup still failed to look before he leaped and should he make the same mistakes today the consequences would be direr. Many would easily blame the Don for being too harsh on his son, and he would concur with their judgement; he was indeed being too harsh but it was only going to get worse until he was satisfied that his son was ready to step into his footsteps and assume his place in the pack. Until then Scorch needed his son to be strong foremost and above all aware of the responsibilities taking over ensured. He moved through the shadows, quickly making his way over to his son and stopped to observe the young wolf that awaited him in the shadows. Part of the Don hated having to train his son in such a fashion, it was less then Scorch himself had endured, but all the same he feared, if not was rather certain, that Banshee would hate him. Sighing and feeling slightly old for the first time Scorch moved out from the shadows to look upon one of his heirs. Tearen, his other son, was such an intelligent pup, Scorch knew he had the makings of a great mastermind and the Don wanted to enforce a brotherly bond between his sons for he knew Banshee would do well to take his brother`s council in upcoming years. However, as genetics would have it, Banshee was something of a poster child for the position and needed to be taught to be strong and unyielding to his opponents. Knowing that his son might never understand that Socrhc was so harsh on him only to protect him from the world was a heavy enough burden to bear, but what choice did he have? No, there were none because so many older and wiser then Banshee would seek the crown upon Scorch`s death, and he needed his son to be ready for the evilness that would sifter out from the shadows when his father was no longer there to protect him. Clearing his throat he came to stand before Banshee, standing tall and imposing, he expected respect from all his subjects, and needed to show his headstrong pup how to show the proper address to his superiors."Good day my son, are you ready for another session? I hope you have studied what we last learnt, I shall be testing you today.” His voice was rather restrained, Banshee would not have the chance to detect weakness in the cunning individuals that he would face, and so Scorch would show none either. Scorch did not employ his fire powers during these training episodes as his son had yet to develop his and would not for quite some time, however he did use his shadow abilities to help prepare the pup. He looked down upon the fast growing wolf, masking his pride as he stood tall, eyes prying and judging the pup`s progress. There was no denying he had an aptitude for killing, and it brought love to Scorch`s heart that not only did Banshee take to fighting, he seemed to actively enjoy it. S c o r c h 's . S o n g

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[Banshee]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/bback-2.jpg] ooc: yes, I am rp-ing with myself, not something I would do ordinarily, but a father and son bond needs to be established. Banshee smelt his father before he heard him, he could never hear his father until it was too late because the Don moved through the shadows ever so quietly and the pup was yet too young to be able to recognize any brush of leaves as a sign that his father was near. However, he was attuned to the Don`s scent and knew that his father was near. As much as he wanted to curl up his lips in anger, he also wanted to feel the exhilaration of fighting another wolf. His dislike of his father was only matched by his admiration of the status that Scorch had achieved and Banshee despised himself for hating his own father, the guilt ate at him every night from the inside out. Frankly the pup was confused, and being sensitive to emotions only seemed to heighten the effects of his anger. He loved his dad, how could he not given that he had raised him and looked out for him? But now nothing was as it used to be, and Banshee could not understand it at all, did his father hate him now? Was that why he had no longer wanted Banshee in the den? Was it why his eldest son could never do any right by his eyes? Banshee cringed as he remembered the sharp words that were often belted his way, words that hurt more than the fangs that he would often feel ripping into his young hide. It nagged at the young wolf day and night, how could he at once hate and love someone? His light azure eyes rested on his father, he had been taught to look directly at a wolf and not avert his gaze, the scar on his brow was proof of what occurred when he averted his gaze for fear that his father would see the hate in his eyes. Keeping his tail low but not submissive he dipped his head in salute, having to submit in such a fashion bringing a bile like taste to his mouth. “Hello Father, I have indeed studied, I hope it shall be enough for your test.” Inside Banshee, who was too young to be subjected to such violent emotions, knew that it would never be enough. Already his body was marred with some scars that could not be fully erased, terribly uncommon marks for such a young wolf, but it was his insides that bled, unhealed and festering without proper attention. His mother`s healing touch was a welcome balm, a small reward for the efforts he put into his sessions, and although he loved her more than anything her touch could not penetrate to his deeper scars. Silently and without command he assumed a battle position, shoulders taunt and ready to spring, legs spread for stability, ears perked forward to detect any key sounds and claws extended, his long ringed tail sashaying lightly for balance. After so many practice sessions the killer pose was now well mastered, and already he was developing muscles beyond his years, his chest expanding as the graceful curve of his back fell onto sleek thighs. Even so he was still smaller than the Don, and although the killer intent in his eyes demonstrated eerie maturity, his body still betrayed his youth. Growling low, he barred his fangs in a silent challenge, and although he knew he would lose, he still had been taught to fight with a fervent passion. B a n s h e e 's . S o n g

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[Scorch]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/SBACK-26.jpg] "Speaking" Scorch nodded as his son`s address, it had taken a while to get the boy to take such a stance, Banshee possessed a great deal of pride, which might help him when dealing with enemies, however Scorch would have none of it in his presence. Roughly and without ceremony he noted, “Hope won`t save you from death, you had best be damn sure you are ready when engaging in battle, foolish boy.” Hope was a false illusion; he needed to eradicate it from Banshee, it seemed the young were more prone to fanciful ideas then adults, a small issue that needed correction. He snorted his disapproval; he would show the boy that hope was useless, only skills and sheer cunning were of any use in their field of interest. Banshee was now six months and Scorch decided it would be high past time that his training increased, in but another 6 months he would be a year and open to wandering and therefore vulnerable to outsider attacks. He needed to be ready to accept that he would have to kill his opponent to save his life, perhaps Scorch would begin taking prisoners to help his son train, individuals that Scorch felt the pup would not hold back from harming. The idea had merit and seemed like it could be a good birthday present when Banshee turned a year of age. Another matter the Don needed to consider was training Banshee to be able to handle himself around females. One day the rascal would need to take a mate, and Scorch hoped to pair his son off with a female whom had built a decent reputation for herself. Banshee would need to make an impression, and the Don was sure many would clamour for his attentions. As the Don`s he would need to learn that most would simply desire him because he was royalty, he would need to teach the pup how to deal with poisonous wenches...However there was time yet for such considering and training for combat was more important. With a terribly critical eye he observed his son`s stance, noting Banshee`s small challenge and smiled, he believed the pup had inherited this foolhardy trait from himself. He would not correct it, it demonstrated flair and the pup would soon learn that if you could not back up your words you received a worse penalty. His eyes took note that Banshee had once again failed to place his legs in the correct position, his stance would be off and easily upset by a larger wolf. Lunging at his son he came at him low and feigning pushing him over swiped a paw under his son to knock him to the ground instead. Falling upon him in order to use his weight to his advantage, the Don snapped viciously at Banshee`s hind quarters, fangs flashing as he sought to disable his opponent. S c o r c h 's . S o n g

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[Rache]

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[atrb=background,http://i1104.photobucket.com/albums/h329/Whosie/rachetableback.png,true] <DIV align=justify> She was almost two years old, almost an adult. Hell if you asked her she was an adult, she hadn't had anyone looking out for her but herself for so long she hardly counted as a pup. Data had been sort of a guardian but he had been busy as of late. Anyway it was Rache who had sought the elder wolf's endorsement, which seemed to have paid off. Knowing which plant would poison or heal was a useful skill, one of many she had. One of her skill being stealth. She prided herself on her ability to slip through the jungle unnoticed. Learning to do so had been difficult with her bright yellow pelt but recently it seemed others didn't see her the way the should. She had discovered this when someone had commented on the dark color of her pelt. Or sometimes others though her eyes were a different color then brown. Some even thought she had Sennyo wings, which honestly she wished she did. It was exciting and off putting at the same time. Never to be seen for the beauty she truly was, though any who saw her thought her beautiful. At least on the outside. But back to stealth, not that that tangent wasn't fun, the main point was, it was now easier for her to move about unnoticed. Which was how she stumbled upon the eldest prince and his dashing father. The sink hole was no place for pups, but she cared not for that fact. Rache, as stated before, was no pup. And she was afraid of nothing, and no one. This was a place she visited from time to time to get away from the nut jobs that were the rest of the pack. I would have been so much easier if her siblings were still around. But then again, she didn't miss them a smidge. The young female stayed hidden, no way was she going to intrude on this juicy encounter. Besides, she was slightly enamored with the Don. His power and strength impressed her beyond all other things. He was exactly what she expected of the Don and would gladly serve him. Her mouth watered some, nearly able to taste the power that came off of him in waves. She wanted that. But not from him. Rache knew he would probably never notice her as anything more than an abandoned pup. That was no way to build a reputation. No what she wanted came from the younger, more impressionable lupus. Though it seemed Scorch was working fast at hardening him. This only made her tail wag in excitement. Large brown eyes watched in anticipation as the two males tensed for battle. A mirthful grin broke out when the Don launched at his son. If only Rache had someone to push her when she was his age. Instead of being abandoned. But loosing her family had taught her a valuable lesson. Never trust anyone. It was why she pushed herself. The fact that Banshee was being pushed to his full potential brought Rache great satisfaction. "speechtest" </DIV>

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[Banshee]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/bback-2.jpg] Banshee heard his father`s sharp words and just barely avoided recoiling, how could he have been so stupid to say such a lame comment? We was the Don`s son, not some quivering puppy from the pitiful packs he heard other mafia members discussing. Banshee heard a lot more than the average pup, his larger ears caught sound a lot easier and since he was already beginning to be adept at creeping about without making any significant noise, he had caught some interesting bits of conversation. He had heard his father was up to something interesting, a small attack on the Children and the pup was secretly hoping his father would chose him to tag along. Maybe if he impressed him during this session? Surely Banshee was good enough to go, he could fight better then even some grownups wolves, of this he was entirely certain. Fact was that for all his training he was still sheltered and certainly isolated in the jungle, the pup had yet to gather and real sense of what the outside world was like. To him the Mafia was absolute, there was no other pack of the same calibre and all other wolves should bow down to their superiority. He had heard his father talk about this notion often enough to take the subject and blow it out of proportions in his impressionable mind. Raising a voice that was startlingly deeper than one should expect for his age Banshee said, “I am sure!” He was sure that even though part of him fervently hated the Don, the other half desperately wanted his approval and attention, and that was the kicker of the affair. His father`s swift movements took him offguard, and he prepared to counter a move that was never carried through. Instead he found himself distracted and felt a powerful swipe upset his balance and send him collapsing to the jungle floor. Claws raked into his foot, grazing the flesh as a fresh stinging sensation followed their wake. Petty injuries, his father would have said, and so Banshee ignored them. However he could not ignore the slashing teeth that were snapping at his flanks and scrambling desperately under his father`s weight he tried to scrape his way to freedom. He was rewarded by the sharp sensation of fangs slicing through his thighs and the familiar rush of warm blood through the strands of his pelt, a burning sensation rippling through his nerves. A whimpered would have earned him a more severe rebuke, and a rebuke was exactly what this assault was, that he could recognize. Desperate to flee the furious jaws he got his back paws up against Scorch`s stomach and gave a strong kick, hoping to distract his dad long enough to escape the deadly embrace. The air seemed to be getting crushed out of him and his wound was bleeding profusely as hot red silk cascaded down his legs and blended with the dark earth, a throbbing painful ache distracting his young mind. Growling he reached up to try and latch on to his father`s throat, knowing the Don would move for a fraction long enough to allow the youth to escape. Banshee was too busy fighting to stay afloat that he did not even notice Rache`s presence, which was really quite all for the best as the shame of being such a weak whelp faced with his father would surely have killed his boastful ego. B a n s h e e 's . S o n g

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[Scorch]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/SBACK-26.jpg] Speaking ooc: Rache and Banshee can continue the post now. Scorch heard his son assert himself and gave a mocking smile, it was about time that the boy shaped up and came to realize cowardly petty responses would not earn him a shred of respect in the world; though if pity was what Banshee was going for Scorch had to admit it was a good start. Whether the Don was sure of a decision or not he always spoke to others with a powerful sense of confidence, there could be no room for discussion, no cracks to pry open and no wounds that slimy maggots could fester within. No, when dealing with such a cut throat pack only sheer dominance and strength could be demonstrated, no matter the cost. And it would cost his son even more dearly for he was young yet. Laughing in amusement he noted, “Finally, a bit of courage, the mafia has no room for whelps pup, shape up or get out of the way.” The words were harsh, and said with vehemence, though deep down the Don despised having to utter them, did not enjoy having to tear at his own son`s flesh simply to prepare the pup for the real world. But Scorch had been raised this way; he knew no other way to get a wolf to learn the importance of brute strength, cunning and ruthlessness. His mind flashed back to his own training, it had been much worse than this, he cared not to remember how many brushes he had suffered with death, perhaps it was for this that death had cursed him with such a putrid ghost to guide him. Or was it a gift, from one dismal soul to another? And could one honestly call what Scorch possessed a soul? No, it did not seem to fit, he had given his up to the devil years ago, a silent trade so that Scorch could become the most ruthless killer his trainers had ever created. The matter had certainly gone further, and Scorch had not been satisfied with the honor, he desired more, so much more. And so he had raised his own little hell and burnt the pack lands to hell, fleeing to find a more inviting place to wreak havoc in, and this had brought him to Wonderwhy. Sure the pack he had found nestled in the jungle was at best disgusting, but it was something to build upon and the poor group had obviously known glory at one point for their reputation preceded them. And so Scorch had turned his soulless eyes on the Hellion Mafia, and it was not long beore he had charmed a group of followers and rose to expel the former Don. Not that the day had been interesting, frankly no one had deemed it wise to point their cowardly noses. It meant there had not been the desired blood bath, for Scorch would have had to kill the Don, but the point of the matter was that he had gained the rather prestigious title of Don that day. Since then the pack had been growing and expanding, and only the most skilled of criminals graced his ranks, but even that was not enough for the Don. His legacy would be carried through the pups his mate has gifted him with, and now the Mafia needed to grow into something darker, the true beast it was born to be. Scorch felt his sharp fangs dig into Banshee`s flesh, tearing the tender hide as his claws hacked notches into the smaller wolf`s side. Blood dribbled down his maw; his son`s no longer innocent life forth. The father and son were joined by blood, and tasting his son`s was much like drinking his own, not a practice he engaged in. He could feel the small wriggling body under him, and then the kick came, surprisingly strong for one of his age, though not enough to debunk him and Scorch retorted with a fierce swipe of his paw at his son`s maw. That`s when he saw the pup`s fangs launch themselves at his neck and he was forced to shove aside, feeling his son wriggle out and jump aside. Snarling in anger, though a small glimmer of pride danced in his eyes, the Don spoke finally, “Very well, enough, you have proven you can break a deadly embrace, go lick you wounds, I have more important matters to attend to.” With a flick of his tail he dismissed his son and flittered off through the shadows, not caring to ensure his son was alright. The pup needs to learn how to look after himself; he thought with mild regret, his mother cannot always be there for him. S c o r c h 's . S o n g

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[Rache]

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[atrb=background,http://i1104.photobucket.com/albums/h329/Whosie/rachetableback.png,true] <DIV align=justify> Rache watched the struggle silently. A dark feeling of enjoyment latched onto her wicked heart at the father and son tore at each other. Clearly Scorch was stronger, he was older, more experienced. To her there was no shame in losing the fight. In fact she felt that Banshee should be quite proud of himself for holding his own against such a stunning and powerful leader. But the feeling that trumped all other she had at the moment was sick enjoyment at the sight of blood that was being spilled. Her pink tongue swiped across her jaw, brown eyes drinking in the liquid as it stained their fur and the ground. She could almost purr with delight, is she had that ability that is. Rache couldn't help but wince when the Don ripped into the younger's pelt though. She couldn't imagine her own father ever doing that to her or her siblings. It looked delectably painful but she could honestly say she would never wish that upon herself. And stain her beautiful pelt? She should think not. She had other skills to perfect besides brute strength. That was what males were for. The encounter seemed to be short lived. A quick exam that Banshee passed. Seeing the Don vanish into the shadows was a treat. With the adult gone there was no longer a threat. Rache stepped out of her hiding place and over to the bleeding prince. "That looks like it hurts," she drawled slowly. She had tried to put concern in her voice but it sounded off, almost mocking. Her mind shrugged it off, it wasn't her fault, she had never had to comfort anyone before. Not that the Banshee needed comfort. "If it makes you feel any better Little Prince, you held your own quite well for someone your age," she continued. The smell of his blood flooded her nostrils, overwhelming her senses. Desire consumed her and she took a risk and ran her tongue across his wound, lapping up the blood pouring from it. As soon as she did that though she quickly danced out of the way of any rebuke that might have come. She didn't trust the prince not to attack her yet. Slowly she circled him and stopped just before him. She made a show of licking her jaw and smirking. "And you taste delicious too." "speechtest" </DIV>

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[Banshee]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/bback-2.jpg] "Speaking" As Banshee lunged for his father`s throat, not but a decoy on his part, he felt a powerful and large paw come to bash him in the face and claws racked down his snout. In their trails blood began to seep out, dripping down his throat. However, his efforts were not loss, for with a triumphant bark Banshee felt his father relent enough for him to dart out from the deadly embrace, a reproachful snarl echoing in his young throat. Banshee stood long enough to watch his father leave and then he sat down without ceremony. His head felt muddle and his thoughts distorted, the swipe to the head was leaving a ringing effect and he shook it slightly to try and get rid of the annoying sensation. And so it was that he did not quite clearly see Ducky emerge from where she had been hiding, and only the yellow color of the blurb gave her identity away. Disoriented he tried to regain his bearings in time to hear her words, a scowl of annoyance on his face. “Some fight,” he said with scorn beyond his years, “couldn`t even draw blood.” He spat out some of the red liquid from his mouth where it had dribbled from the cuts on his maw and shook his head, spraying blood through the air. His dark fur rippled in the light, the inherited liquid sheen from his very own father`s genetics. Banshee did not address her observation about pain, what difference did it make anyways, no pain no gain and so in his own fashion he enjoyed feeling the sharp burning sensation of severed nerves and damaged tissue. The young male almost jumped out of his skin when the unexpected lick came to grace his wound and he wiped around, rewarding himself with a sharp pang of pain from his injury to gawk in bewilderment at his unusual friend. “What was that for?” He asked, truly befuddled, females were so odd, though at least this one was more like him. Huffing in exasperation he noted dryly, “Well of course I do Ducky, though I hope this doesn`t mean you`ve become a cannibal?” He raised a brow; the young prince had matured some since last seeing his companion, though he still had a lot to learn. The realization dawned on him that dear Ducky might have been spying and had seen his humiliating defeat, which brought a sharp questioning look to his dark face. “Were you spying on us?” He asked shrewdly, fur bristling ever so slightly as he stood up and approached the older female, he did not like the idea at all, especially if she went and blabbed to any other wolves about his terribly lacking fighting skills. What the young wolf did not understand was despite not being able to hold his own in a fight against a fully grown wolf, his skills were really unnaturally advanced for his age, but his father kept his son`s ego at bay with sharp criticism and disapproval so that his son might continue learning and progressing. B a n s h e e 's . S o n g

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[Rache]

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[atrb=background,http://i1104.photobucket.com/albums/h329/Whosie/rachetableback.png,true] <DIV align=justify> Rache studdied the younger wolf as he seethed. If she were a kinder wolf she would have felt sorry for him. Or if he were a Sennyo, seeing as he was not she didn't feel pity at all. It was quite disgusting to see the young prince wallowing, though if the situation were reversed she would have done the same. Not that she would ever admit that. The young she-wolf was never one for cheering others up so she did what she did best. "It is unlike you to sulk in self pity," she commented off handed,"It rather detracts from your good looks."She knew that might sober the prince up. It would be unseemly for him too look anything other than his best, even in front of her. And while she would let it slid sense he was such a cute little prince, it wouldn't do for her future leader to be seen that way by anyone else. She let out a bark of laughter when she said he hoped she hadn't turned cannibal. Little did he know she had been raised on wolf flesh. Her mother and father had seen to it that their children knew that no creature was off the food chain. "Would it scare you if I were?"she taunted ginning toothily. Baiting Banshee had to be one of the best past times. More fun then crushing mice, which had become dull because they never put up much of a fight. And if I was spying? Pray tell,what would you do?" she asked, brown eyes gleaming, knowing in his state he couldn't do much at all. Though not wanting to prod the pup too much she add,"Do not despair, I dare not tell a soul. You are my favorite Prince after all." </DIV>

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[Banshee]

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[atrb=background,http://i1218.photobucket.com/albums/dd415/Somatra1/bback-5.jpg] "Speaking" - - - Sulking?! Banshee was not sulking, no way, he was a prince and princes did not sulk and he gave the female a scowl of resentment. Flicking his head up high he puffed out his chest where the bulk of his muscles were beginning to develop. His body was not forming in the way that normal wolves did, his muscles were not spread out though the overall effect was beginning to demonstrate what a unique adult Banshee would later become. With slender hips, wide shoulders, large rounded paws, wide pointed ears, long snout, strong and decisive jaw and a broad chest he would become the picture boy of strength and elegance. Giving his silver ringed tail a slight curl of defiance he huffed his annoyance, head tilted in a proud fashion. About to leave the clearing he just caught Ducky`s words, his ears perking up sharply in attention, had she said he had good looks? Turning his head to observe the yellow wolf he narrowed his eyes in contemplation, was she mocking him? No, for Banshee knew that he was a good looking bloke, his mom had told him so since birth and when paired with his brother`s star speckled coat made quite an impression. Cockily he turned around and strutted back, “Well now, I did not know Ms. Quackalot was an admirer. I suppose I could hang around for a bit more.” He gave the female a dazzling grin and lifted his paw as his body almost curled into a boastful stand, white fangs flashing against black pelt just like he had seen his dad do to a female before. The mafia prince supposed he would not care if the female was a cannibal, though it did not appeal to his taste in the least; all evil packs had to have at least one cannibal to really be complete. In fact, in an odd way he rather thought he would enjoy watching Rache eat a dying wolf, though he was too young to really understand why. He began to picture the scene, his first kill of an adult wolf, blood running down his maw as he presented his kill to Ducky. Her smooth compliments of his daring murder and her delicate muzzle buried into the body, enjoying the taste of his kill. A dopey grin of wonder touched his maw lightly, a disturbed dreamy look to his light azure blue and viridian green eyes. “I don`t think I would mind, you could always have my kills anytime.” He said, his tail wagging back and forth slowly. Scrunching down in a playful position, he rolled onto his back, and wiggled in the humid and rich earth, marking the area with his scent and asserting his dominance over the territory and the female. He had watched his dad closely and seen him do this before, so by mimicking he hoped to one day not only learn all his father`s trick, but make them better. Pausing he listened to her words thoughtfully, perhaps he did not mind Ducky spying so much, as long as she kept her yap shut of course. Nodding in approval he stated, “Very well, cause if you did I would have to have you assassinated.” He said so with a careless abandon, simply stating the price of what he considered treason. It wasn`t anything of a personal matter, simply business really, anyone whomever betrayed him would certainly suffer. B a n s h e e 's . S o n g

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