He mustered a half-smile as the knight thanked him and slipped away once more. From the corner of his eye, he watched her disappear among a crowd of armoured men and women, chattering and readying themselves before they were given their marching orders. Off to hunt down the last attackers that had fled at the start of the battle. Some distant part of him longed to stand up and chase after them, to hunt and chase and kill the prey, but the caged beast's howl was a cub's roar in truth, and he snuffed it easily with a glance back down to the fallen Priestess. It felt cruel that the world should continue to move while she lay dead. Soldiers forced to abandon their fallen friends and loved ones to the kindness of strangers, like him, to care for them when they no longer could. Strangers without any loved ones left of their own to tend to.
"Your melancholy is giving me a migraine," Greyhide muttered from over his shoulder in a tone that somehow still sounded respectful. Maybe he did have a few. Myrth still stood at his side, lowering her head to sniff at the Priestess' hand and lick over her limp fingers. Her shoulders were slumped, ears pinned back and tail draping low; this was bringing back some painful memories of her own, of an unmarked grave somewhere in the Desnind deepwoods, of a mauled corpse in a worn leather jerkin. He pressed a hand into her cheek and she rubbed against it half-heartedly, but those chilled eyes never wavered. Though seasons had passed, though it still brought her pain, he could never remove His presence from her, and he'd never want to - all he could do was be there, the comforting touch on a cheek that let her know that she was still loved. Cold still lurked close to the Shadowhound, pacing and leaving trails of dribbled blood from his thickly-stained muzzle. The chained demon in his chest had the taste of blood now, and thirsted for more, pulling him back to the direction the knights had run off in, longing to pull him back. The only thing stopping him was Nir'wei - a leash of control wrapped tight in a white-knuckle grip at his throat, as long as he was around to hold it.
This was the truth of what it meant to be the Alpha; the nature of his relationship. He was the rock. The grounding force that held back the pain of loss in Myrth, the feral rage of Cold... the willing sacrifice of Greyhide. The commanding hand in the leaderless Traveller, the caring brother in the lonely Jasper. The more he held, the heavier he made himself to hold them together and within themselves, and yet sometimes he felt like even he shouldered his own weight.
Times like now. When something tugged at him, and he met the eyes of the cat. He saw the pain of Myrth and the rage of Cold in those eyes... for a moment he swore he even saw Greyhide. A willing sacrifice, to leave it all behind... he saw his whole pack in her. And he knew it was time to make himself heavier still.
"Then you'd better keep some bandages close," he warned her back as he reached to his belt and undid the buckle, letting the empty sheath of his sword fall to the cobblestones. The last weapon he had to his name, a short but extremely well-made hunting knife, he placed next to it, before standing and leaving them behind. "Greyhide, stand back. Take the others with you... and no matter what happens, you stay back. No matter what happens." He wasn't stupid. This had to be the most dangerous creature he'd ever come across in his short life and approaching one under any other circumstance with absolutely no armour and no weapons would have been a one-way ticket to Moseke's arms. But he put his trust in her. As his wolves backed away, he stepped forward. The pain she felt, he knew he couldn't understand, but he offered himself all the same. Even as he felt his hands start to shake under her raw stare. Cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck like the fingers of Vri as hot tears traced lines over his face and dripped from his chin. One errant swipe of her claws could slash through his stomach and he wouldn't have time to raise a hand to stop her. All he had were her eyes locked in his own. Human eyes that had seen her pain and anger, and knew the sacrifice she offered.
For the second time that day, he stared death in the face. But this time his shaking hand reached out towards it, waiting for its blessing.





