What went on in that head of his? It was as if Haku was suddenly incapable of thought, of conscious decisions of a right mind. There had been a definite change in his character since they'd first met; he and Jefferson had been aware of their places as head of neighboring packs, but the two had never made any progress as half-brothers. The two had never bothered to learn about each other, and Jefferson hadn't known what slow decline his brother had fallen into since then. No, he wouldn't have been able to stop it, and he felt no need to. There was no regret, no guilt in feeling that he could have been the difference between sanity and madness for his brother had he tried -- there was no point in a guilty conscience worried for what could have been. It was too late now, and Haku was already long gone.
The Patriarch's tattered ears flipped back, his eye thinning. The brute would not accept threats, empty or otherwise, against what he so heavily guarded and protected. He bristled, a low growl erupting at the base of his throat. Jefferson searched quickly for a face that matched he description his brother recklessly gave. He'd known many brown wolves. Iskata, but it couldn't have been her. Faler? The blue-eyed wolfess had not spent long in Phoenix Valley, but the cyclops had been her rescuer off-territory when he found the poor girl collapsed and near death. The cyclops had never been told why, and the whole event had been carelessly thrown into further depths of his mind.
Nostrils flared. He had his answers. "This is between you and I," he hissed. "You fuck with my pack, you fuck with me -- and my fucking won't feel good. I won't hesitate to rip your pretty head from your shoulders, little brother." He hadn't come here to fight, but he hadn't come to Dahlia without knowing its plausibility.
Green eye glowed. "Finish it now, Haku."