[Haven]

The queen didn't often come to this part of the packlands. She just really, really wanted to be alone right now.

Xenia's suggestion rang out in her mind like the sound of a tolling bell. (It's not like it's a bad thing, she should be happy.) Haven didn't know what to think about it. She didn't want to talk about it. Didn't know what to DO. Her hip ached and she suddenly felt old, despite being in the prime of her life. She wanted to be alone, away from the rest of the pack and their sunshine and lavender, and so she'd come to the graveyard, walking curiously among the ancient skulls of the mammoths that had once dominated this land. She didn't often come to this part of the packlands. Death everywhere, except in her. 

Haven knew how to lead nations and armies. She did not know how to love something as gentle as a family with her hands so covered in blood. 

She sat down in the curve between the two tusks of one of the smallest skulls. She stayed there for some time, forepaws draped over a jutting piece of ivory. The quiet was good, and it lasted, until a feeling of unease began to creep through the queen like a shudder. Someone was watching her. Within seconds she had scrambled to her feet, hawk-yellow eyes scanning the surrounding area - skulls and dust and moss, someone was hiding here. (The part of her brain that always watched for brown fur and green eyes said ITS HER ITS HER but she didn't let her expression falter.) 

"Show yourself." She said at last, her gaze sharp and firm, her stance unyielding. "Now." 

[Theron]

THERON
THERE'S A COLD BREEZE BLOWING OVER MY SOUL

The young dire mix spent a great deal of time here. It was not frequently trafficked, in fact, it was all but deserted. The bulk of inaria didn't seem to enjoy the company of dirt and bone as much as the recluse did. Theron liked it here. Another beast might have called it somber, but that was lost on him. No, he liked it because it was quiet, because people left him alone, and because some of these old bones had marrow in them yet.

It was the latter of those things that led the dire here this evening. He had a den of sorts, a hollow that was tucked between a rise of earth and the bulbous cranium of some long dead, yet impressively sized, mammoth. He lay at the mouth of it now, a femur held between his front paws that he gnawed upon silently.

The gold one was a surprise. He recognized her the moment she slunk into view, the golden queen was not a stealthy figure... her bright colors and bad leg made certain he saw and heard her coming from far off. Yet if one expected the dirt-colored dire to bow his head in deference or to go to the Queen seeking conversation they would be rather wrong. Instead, Theron held still, bone still positioned between his molars as he watched her approach closer and closer with eerie white eyes.

"Show yourself. Now."

The sharp voice made Theron’s ears flick back in irritation. For a moment he considered ignoring her entirely, but there was a needling curiosity at the back of his mind. He had questions for this one. He wasn’t sure what they were just yet, but he had them. Theron crunched down on his bone - answering the queen’s order with the sharp crack of splintering bone. He did not bother to stand, instead he simply crept forward a few inches so his head was in the light. Then adjusted the femur between his paws and lifted his head. Theron’s unsettling white eyes were cold and detached as they looked over her.

“It’s you.” He stated flatly, his voice a low rusty sounding growl.

No one had taught this creature the proper etiquette with which to address a Queen, and even if he knew, he wouldn’t have exercised it. Hell, Theron barely knew what the word ‘etiquette’ meant. He was no socialite. There was no one who'd stick him with that label. Yet what label did he deserve? Inarian? Renegade?

That was the question wasn't it.

[Haven]

She heard the crunch of bone and the flash of green eyes, and from deep in her gut came a rumbling, animalistic growl. 

But it wasn't Dragon, with her soft, somber voice and cryptic threats. He answered her, voice deep and gruff and more youthful than his....mother. The watcher moved from the shadows and bones just enough for her to see him clearly. "It's you." The queen's hackles lowered. Haven had not seen the boy since well before the war, and could not help but feel a paired surge of guilt and anger. Theron was a living embodiment of the harm Dragon had caused. Like a scar personified. 

At least he hadn't hurt anyone since he'd been brought here. Maybe living a loner's life among the bones was as good a life as the boy could hope for. Maybe that was to be his lot. Safer for him, safer for others. A problem not solved so much as ignored and avoided, in order to not make it worse. 

"Theron." She answered coldly.

"I hope you're..." She surveyed him warily. "Well." She took a few steps towards him, stepping over the tusk she had been resting on. Golden eyes were stoic and unreadable as usual, scanning over him. He appeared in decent health, at least. The queen was guarded, if Theron tried anything, she wouldn't be afraid to smack him back down again. The pregnancy was only more reason not to let the feral wolf push her around. 

"You're still here, so I suppose you've found Inaria better than the marshes, at least."

[Theron]

(BULLET POST SINCE EVE IS FOOLISH AND JUST EDITED THIS POST WITH HERS?? SOMEHOW???!? paladin queen)

• Theron acts gruff and standoffish but mostly unintimidated by Haven
  
• Creepy emotionless stare activated
  
• "Game's better. Nothing more than mud left for me there." He says, thinking about how Eschaton is gone.
  
• Cronches on bone while he thinks about what he wants to say. Has questions for Haven but unsocialable boy is unsure how to ask them.
  
• Looks up from bone and gruffly asks, "Have I worn out my welcome?"
  

[Haven]

The younger wolf gave a dismissive snort, and the paladin queen took another step forward. He continued to gnaw on his bone as he considered the mention of his time in the marshlands. After a pause, he replied, his voice rough and disused in a mouth that served mostly for housing fangs - "Game's better. Nothing more than mud left for me there."

He was right, of course. Dragon certainly wouldn't be waiting for him there in the mire, nor Beryl. As far as Haven knew, Dragon had abandoned that place, at least according to reports from Cappella and others. The marshes had been dangerous and unpleasant at best, and they were certainly no place for a child to have grown up. There was nothing for Theron out there in the world, really. Nothing for him anywhere, except maybe here. Inaria could offer so much. Safety. Security. Health. Haven observed the wolf as he chewed on the bone, which cracked in his teeth. She had hoped Inaria would provide him more than even all of that. She had hoped for a life for him, a meaningful life, and for some degree of rehabilitation from Dragon's influence. She waited in silence until he spoke again.

"Have I worn out my welcome?"

"You're an Inarian." Haven replied, sitting down on her haunches again, though she remained alert. Theron had certainly been born here, and he was certainly here now. Whether or not that was enough to make him Inarian was unanswered, in truth. "Like all Inarians, if you obey the law, you will always have a place here." Citizen of the lilac kingdom had been banished before, there was precedent for it. But Theron had not earned the ire of the monarchy. At least not yet.

"You're free to leave should you so desire." The queen added coolly. "Though personally I'd prefer you stay."

[Theron]

THERON
THERE'S A COLD BREEZE BLOWING

 OVER MY SOUL

He yawned briefly, swiping a pink tongue over large yellowed teeth. It would be easy to write the boy of as nothing more than slavering jaws and gnashing teeth - he was prone to violence. Theron rarely did anything out of malice, but he was volatile in temperament and his methods of getting what he wanted were colored with the atrocities of his “mothers”.  

The things Inaria promised were, in truth, of little concern for him as he was. His opinions toward his packmates, even Haven herself, ranged from apathy to annoyance, with a select few exceptions who provoked the young dire mix to curiosity. Some things they told him made sense.

"You're an Inarian."

He considered her words, a grimace twisting his muzzle as his tongue swiped at some marrow. His ears pinned back. That was what they said, what had coaxed him here. Yet he didn’t feel like he belonged here. Theron was apathetic, not oblivious. He could feel the eyes of his “packmates” (calling them that was generous) watching him with reactions ranging from pity, fear, and confusion. He stayed because there was no better option, and because there was some gnawing feeling that bit at him since he arrived. A desire for some sort of comfort he couldn’t define himself.

"Like all Inarians, if you obey the law,-” He bit into the bone hard, another splintering crunch interrupted her as she continued. ”- you will always have a place here."

His uncanny white eyes flicked over the graveyard, then down at the bone between his paws. His place here? A scavenger among the bones. He suddenly lurched to his feet, stepping close

“You're free to leave should you so desire. Though personally I'd prefer you stay."

”Why?” He growled, so suddenly she had barely finished her sentence before he asked his own. On impulse he stalked forward, drawing uncomfortably close. Lifting his head above hers and meeting Haven’s gaze with the boldness only one devoid of social graces could. He wanted an answer eagerly - wanted one he could understand.

His methodology for getting what he wanted always left a bit to be desired.