Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
---
September 23; Evening, after sunset; Partly Cloudy; 47 ° F, 8 ° C.
After catching up on his rest, Sköll emerged from the depths of Willow Ridge. Since his little scuffle with Angier, the prince had been biding his time. When he wasn't taking care of Sven and switching off cub-duties (relaying lessons and , mostly, since the boy was much too old now to be cub-sat), he was stalking the territory and tracking the scent trails that wove through the willows. One particular individual he was keen on shadowing was the Ridge's current second-in-command, his Aunt Adele's counterpart, Uncle Nicolo.
The hunt for Piety had come to a moot point at long last. Given that a position of power had finally opened up to him, he was not going to exhaust his energy just looking for her. In fact, it made more sense for him to challenge up in rank; then, once given some degree of control of the pack, he figured he might order the rest of the family to look for her while he stayed at home. He would deal with that all later though - that is, if it was worth the effort at all anymore. Since his encounter with the suspicious man in the west, somewhere within Cedarwood Forest, he had almost come to think that maybe if she was meant to be with him, she would return. On another hand, there was also the idea that if he seized control of the pack, perhaps she would come crawling back. For who could deny the protection of a full-fledged king?
All Sköll had to do was prove himself worthy of such a title.
After sometime Nicoló's trail grew stronger and every so often, his path intertwined with that of Adele's. Apart from knowing that they were related to one another, Sköll knew absolutely nothing apart from the fact that his uncle was a self-proclaimed scholar and historian. Since his initiation into the pack, he had specifically come to be Willow Ridge's resident scholar and historian. This, the prince hoped, hinted at the man's ability with words. Words were something he definitely could do; and, if he could talk his way into his uncle's favor, he would do so at the figurative drop of a hat.
Somewhere ahead of him he thought he heard the willow branches shift and the younger Archer stopped in his tracks. His ears cupped forward and his tail drew up in an eager wag. There would be no need to draw his weapon - a figurative snickersnee fashioned from insults and slander - just yet; that would be for later if things didn't pan out as he would have hoped. For now, all he wanted was some quality time between uncle and nephew and to see for himself if Nicoló was truly the record-keeper he claimed he was.
"Uncle?" he tried at first, staring through the gathering dark and into the still-green underbrush between the trees. "Uncle Ni-coló? I'd... I'd like to speak with you..."