There had always been rejection. There had always been hate and fear. Larkspur might have been a comrade of the coyotes, knowing their plight, but he hated the beasts for what they had done. Without Haku, the chain of command was broken. Without Haku, any and all aspirations of something great went up in smoke. He had the boy, but the boy was not yet ready for anything great. King was a ghost, perhaps smarter than Larkspur in this fact and hiding his true intentions. Misery had warned him to blend in, but he could not stand idly by and wait for things to happen.
He flinched at her touch, finding it an odd sensation. He had only ever been touched when he was hit. Misery alone had been allowed, for she never hurt him. Granted, he would have died for her, but even so she was never cruel. Not like the Khalif. His breathing picked up slightly, nervously, and only then did he notice something peculiar about her scent. It was something he did not recognize, something that made his mind begin to systematically shut down. The can tah whispered furiously of prophecies he was not meant for, and his orange eyes burned. A low and urgent growl rose in his throat, primal in its nature. There was no room within him for anything more.
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