He stared into the fish's eye as it looked up into the skies, unblinking, gasping for breath. He'd caught the fish- a small trout, hardly more than a morsel- and had carried it onto the shore and had watched for some time as it had flopped about. He'd done little to harm it- if he'd plunked it back into the water, it likely could have swum away and lived out the rest of its life. He'd been fairly gentle with his teeth, only gripping the slippery thing hard enough so that he might not drop it and allow it to get away. He simply sat as it flipped this way and that way on the new green grass, but it was too far from the water, now, to find its way back, and he doubted very much that it even knew the way to go. Only when it had resolved to lie flat on the ground, motionless apart from its gasping, did he close in and sit just beside it so that he could look into its wide, staring eye and watch.
There was very little difference to be seen in the fish's face. No expression, really. It looked just as surprised now as it had when it had been in the water, and he found very little consolation in that. This looked like a creature which lived every minute of its life in fear of being caught and killed. Even rabbits an deer looked serene before they realized they were being watched or hunted. But birds and fish, he decided, were different. There was something about those wide eyes and their mouths that denied him the pleasure of seeing expression, passion, personality. The fish looked no more alive now than it did when it had been in the water- and even when it stopped gasping for air it looked no more dead than it had before it had died. He was not impressed. This wasn't something that knew and valued its life. This was something that knew nothing.
The fish was left on the grass by the boy who had no interest in eating something so simple. Even though he was hungry, he didn't desire it. Someone else might find it, he decided, and they could eat it if they wanted to. A fox or coyote could even have it, he didn't care, and he didn't want to offer such a thing to his mother. Fish were a disgrace to the living. Birds were, too. He wanted only to kill something that knew the value of being alive. The water had been drying up in the stream and even then, the fish hadn't fought for its life, it hadn't left to find somewhere better. It had stayed in the shallows where it had easily been caught.
His search for another form of prey was interrupted by a new scent he'd caught lingering in the pack, and he followed it quietly. The prince of fire and ash stalked the new female through the willows, further up stream where he found her not far from the same source of water his fish had come from. At first, he was quite surprised to see her; she was quite similar to his mother, and he knew at once who she must be; he'd heard about her from Skoll, who had already had the chance to meet both this new addition to their pack and the other, both who were of Archer blood. It was her eyes that ensnared his attention the most- the same, pale, silverfish grey that his mother had. The fire-orange eyes belonging to the boy flashed, but he dipped his head in greeting as he approached her. Though Skoll had been somewhat sour when he'd spoken to him about these two new arrivals, the older Archer prince would reserve judgement- for now. He found himself quite drawn toward liking her; her resemblance to his mother was easily noted, which immediately put her in the boy's favour. She was beautiful; a younger version of Elettra, with a bit less brown in her coat. Given how much the boy liked his mother, he felt immediately drawn to Sorya, a wolf whose attractiveness came mainly from how he associated her, already, with her sister.
"I was told our family here had grown," He said, his silky voice smoothe and warm. "Asriel Archer, pleased to meet you," He said quietly, and though he appeared humble, there was a certain dignity about the way he held himself, so as to establish exactly who he was: Asriel Archer, prince of Willow Ridge.
WILLOW Ridge
Sex: Female
