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It was as if nothing mattered the the dog King, once glorious (if not misleadingly stoic) in his prime, now a fallen beast. Ayita's wounds had been etched into his mind, his body aching where hers did. More importantly, Vigilante's existence had become hardly more than that of a ghost, lingering by his mate's side for as long as he could stand before he had to move, had to clear his mind. She slept, and the dog King moved silently from their room, leaving the house with his head low and muscles tense.
Only moments later, he heard the call from the borders, recognizing it after a moment of foggy thought. It had been hard to push the fog away enough to acknowledge that it was the Aston leader of the tribe. He moved slowly—after all, did he not have a more willing Constable now, so willing he was to usurp the rank? With any luck, he would not be needed at all. It was part of his wish to turn now, to pretend he had not heard the call, but he pushed forward. He still had duties, however much he had grown to loathe them in the past two weeks.
Vigilante had missed most of the conversation, coming in at the very end of it. He looked to Claudius and the other tribal wolf, then to Silvano, his massive secui head held low to the ground. Words did not come to him, his voice too heavy to muster without need. The look he gave them was questioning, his eyes haunted, distant.
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