The Dragonborn stirred in his sleep, his fingers twitching and his mouth mumbling out another snore. He turned his head, and when his cheek brushed against something soft, he sighed and continued to doze in peace.

Locked away in his dreamworld, he didn't know his hand was comfortably resting against a curved hip or that his cheek was brushing against black hair. Or that the woman in his arms was watching him, a tired smile gracing her face. Her head rested against his shoulder, her hand held to his chest, and she listened to his breathing and felt his heart's steady beat. She was being lulled, her eyes were starting to droop, and she had no complaints of a few more minutes of shut-eye—

SNORE.

She blinked and frowned when he bellowed out another snore. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that his snores were only enhanced by his Thu'um. Rolling her eyes, she huffed when he snored again, and then again, and then again. She peered at his face, trying to see if his hair had fallen in his eyes, but naught was out of place.

The only things wrong with him were the bags under his eyes, and with a twisting stomach, she held her peace. Rather, she decided that if he was going to sleep, he ought to have sweet dreams. So, slowly raising a hand out of his poncho and letting her fingers trace up his neck, she made it her intent to follow the lobe of his ear to its tip.

Her plans were halted when two groggy hazel eyes squinted at her. He wore a smug grin, and with an equally smug voice, mumbled, "So you are touching them. I knew it."

"That's because they're stupid and ugly like you, you foolish twatty—"

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed before pulling her closer so his forehead rested against hers. "You're too loud," he whispered before closing his eyes. He choked out something close to a squeak when she pinched the tip of his ear. "Ow—!"

"Now who's too loud," she cackled quietly.

"If they fascinate you so much," he said, "then I'll buy you some Falmer ears to sate your fetish. Talos knows my ears wouldn't suffer, then."

"It's not a fetish," she frowned. "It's a—" He opened one eye and gave her an incredulous look. "It's… it's…"

"Hmmm?" He chuckled, the sound still laced with sleep, and bobbed his head side to side. "At a loss for words, m'lady? I won't judge," he murmured, then closed his eyes again. "Let us stay like this for a while."

"Stay like—"

"Shh," he grumbled. Silence might have existed between them for a moment—and perhaps in that moment something else was coming to life between them. But whatever that might have been, silence was broken when a growl reached the Dragonborn's ears.

If Vidar had ever associated with those borne without the lycanthropy, he'd have been able to pause and think about his actions. He'd have thought rationally—his conscience oddly sounding like Ebeneser's reasonable voice—and would not have found his claws to have been forming or his fangs to have been sprouting.

Alas, when he left the Black-Coats' twisted, spiraling tunnels and followed the scent of his Black Beauty, he did not think he'd be conflicted. He had hoped she would have been part of the Black-Coats who had greeted him and his hunting troupe, and when he had not seen her, he felt his spirits dampen.

His father had decided a proper thanks was in order for having his son saved from a rampaging mammoth, and so he had instructed him to deliver food and an opportunity of an alliance to the Black-Coats. The order had seemed sudden to Vidar, but he knew better than to question his father or look a gift horse in the mouth; it was a chance to prove himself as future Alpha. He also knew that as Alpha, Reinhart had many pressing issues to see to, and the Black-Coats were most likely not among those pressing issues. Vidar was the only one fit for the task.

Still, Vidar had been eager and gay to see his lovely, albeit incorrigible, savior again. It had been nearly two months since their incident at the hot springs, and he thought nothing in Existence could wipe the smirk from his face.

Until he saw her, his Black-Coat, sleeping the day away in the arms of another man. This stranger was propped against a boulder, his arms loosely about her waist and his chin against her head. They were wrapped in the man's poncho, a remarkable piece of sartorial workmanship, oblivious to the world around them. Not even the man's snores or his Beauty's snuffles disturbed them.

This, Vidar decided, would not do, especially when he didn't smell hide nor hair of lycanthropy on the man. He braced himself on his legs before springing forward, claws out and teeth bared.

It had taken some time for Ivor to find a chance to steal away from his pack members to return to her. Her scent was still strong in his nostrils, his hands still tingled, his stomach still flipped, and his tongue still ran over his lips. Nyssa had been staring at him when she wasn't busy ducking away from Skafti's curious glances. Helena hadn't noticed his odd behavior, and she skipped away to play with the other younglings. Ritta was too busy edging this way and that, as if she was uneasy about something or had an upset stomach. Askel kept his eyes on Skafti.

Strangely enough, opportunity presented itself in the form of Skafti. The Tangled-Knot had bounded away, muttering nonsense beneath his breath, and that was enough for Askel, Ritta, and Nyssa to chase after him. Ivor had followed them all outside, and once he was confident that the three of them could handle the Tangled-Knot runt, he crept back inside his den.

"Bubbly" was not a word he ever used to describe himself. Nor "uncertain" or "anxious." He didn't know what he was feeling, but he knew what he wanted.

He wanted soft, tender, gentle, caring. And so he followed her scent.

He did not want to see Garald's adviser just outside of the servant's quarters.

"Nuel."

The adviser turned toward him. Folding his hands behind his back, he smiled and nodded. "Ivor. I'm glad to see these Tangled-Knots haven't overrun you. Males can be… competitive, especially in foreign territory."

Ivor leaned toward him and murmured, "They are a nuisance, but they're guests all the same." Glancing about, he added, "I want them to leave."

Nuel chuckled, "As much as you want the Dragonborn gone, I'm sure."

"They are bound to hound after our females," Ivor said with a frown. "The small one's already looking at Nyssa too much. I don't like it."

"Indeed," Nuel said. He narrowed his eyes at Ivor and wore a thin-lipped smile. "There certainly are concerning things amongst our pack nowadays, hm? Why, there are so many new scents to take in, so much to ponder…" Nuel glared at him, then, and Ivor matched the expression. "Do scrub yourself after you dally with a servant, Ivor. Some of our pack might think you are exploring curious notions of the body."

"Some of our pack, Nuel, or you?"

Nuel smiled and brushed an invisible piece of lint from his robe. "I am the Alpha's adviser, Ivor, and as such, it is my responsibility to be aware of our pack's feelings."

"That sounds a lot like the Alpha's duty."

"Oh, I'm sure it does." Nuel whispered in Ivor's ear, "But perhaps you will learn one day that there is a very thin line between the duties of Alpha and adviser, Ivor." Grinning, Nuel nodded and turned to leave, but Ivor wouldn't have it. He grabbed him by the collar of his robes and yanked him back.

"You stay away from her," Ivor growled. "You go anywhere near the servants' quarters again, I'll—"

"Tattle on me? Whimper for Garald to serve me justice? Ivor, dear boy, it's my job to make sure our pack is up and running. Servants must see to their duties. Although," Nuel added, feigning indifference, "it might be difficult for dear Petra to do her chores, what with the Tangled-Knots finding interest in her. Oh dear me, I've said too much; now I've angered you, Ivor."

Nuel smiled and plucked Ivor's hand off his robes. "Pity, Ivor. I thought you were a Brute with higher standards. If only you knew the truth about her, dear boy."

Despite Ivor's balled hands, his rising hackles, and his curled lip, there was apprehension in his voice. "And what truth is that?" The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he felt a growl itching in his throat when Nuel chuckled.

"Oh, but dear Ivor, have you forgotten already? That's the Alpha's duty to know the truth, not a humble adviser's."

With no words left to say, Ivor watched the Alpha's adviser take his leave, and when he was out of sight, Ivor crept into the servant's quarters. The truth was right before him, curled in meager furs and sound asleep. Naught was out of place—save for the stench of Tangled-Knot hovering about her like a swarm of insects. Wrinkling his nose, he shook his head and knelt next to his servant.

When she would wake, she would find snow white fur draped over her and his taste fresh on her lips.

One moment, Vidar was leaping toward this strange man, this half-breed mutt. Then, in another moment, the stranger had snapped his eyes open and shouted something that made Vidar fly backward. Fly he did, away from his Black Beauty and his Prey, fly until he landed in the frigid river.

Swimming to the surface was difficult; his muscles refused to cooperate, but he pushed himself, determined to see the Prey dead at his feet. Hauling himself out of the river, his fur soggy and sticking to his body, he growled and stalked back toward the Prey. Vidar, son of Alpha Reinhart of the Tangled-Knot Crag pack, would not be bested by a mere mutt.

He stopped midstride when he saw his Beauty arguing with the Prey.

"Think before you Shout, you twat!"

"I did think. I thought: I'm going to be killed by a werewolf now! I thought your pack liked me!"

"He is not of my pack, you idiot!"

"Oh, so you two know each other, then? Or was he just in the mood for ear-biscuits?"

Vidar snorted and braced himself to charge the Prey. He started running, gaining speed, intent to finish it off this time.

This time, however, he was brought down by his Beauty. "YOU!" Not by the accusation in her voice, not by her finger pointed at him, but at her flushed cheeks and the fire dancing in her eyes. They were enough to make him plant his bottom down, dig his palms and heels into the snow, and skid to a stop. He shook his fur out, then started the change back into a man.

"You," she growled, jabbing her finger into his semi-hairy shoulder. "You stupid, brainless, hairy mongrel of a wagtail—"

His transformation complete, he wore nothing but his skin. The Prey was glaring at him, but Vidar was far too interested in his Beauty to pay it any mind. When she jabbed him again, he pulled her arm with one hand, and the other braced the small of her back.

He expected her to howl and claw at him, perhaps spit in his face. He hadn't expected her to wrap her arms around his neck, for her nose to brush against his, for her breath to cross over his lips. Closing his eyes, he leaned in, intent on closing the little distance between them.

He should have expected her feet to swipe his legs out, for her hands to clamp on the back of his neck and force his head into the snow. Hissing and coughing, he flailed beneath her and tried to stand, but she had made herself comfortable on his stomach.

His Beauty cackled, a sound full of victory, and leaned her head back. "Oh, you're still a puppy, wagtail," she said.

Vidar smiled despite himself, and did his best to shrug. "This puppy is thrilled to see you again, my Black Beauty."

"Pardon me."

Both werewolves turned to the man behind them. Vidar raised his chin, his eyes narrowing at the Prey, while his Beauty's face was unreadable.

"Well," the Prey said, clapping its hands. "Well what an eventful morning and a rude awakening, at that. Having my ears poked and prodded at like they were animals in a pen—"

His Beauty growled, and Vidar coughed when her fingers dug into his shoulder. "That is not—"

The Prey shook its head. "And let's not forget almost having my throat ripped out by a werewolf. You two obviously know each other." It gestured to them both, his Beauty atop him, and then averted its eyes, as if it did not deserve to look at them.

Which is correct, Vidar thought with a growl.

"I will just let you two be then, yes?" Turning tail, it started its march back to the Black-Coat den.

Vidar's fangs sprouted when the Prey's scent filled his nostrils. His Beauty had rocked her weight back to her heels, and Vidar took the opportunity to prop himself up on an elbow. "Hold there, mutt!" When his Black Beauty growled and bared her teeth at him, he tilted his head in confusion.

The mutt paused for just a moment before continuing its pace.

Vidar spat and struggled to his feet. "Prey does not turn its back on our kind and freely walk away. Mutt!" He snapped his mouth shut when his Beauty pushed him back to the snow to hurry after the stranger.

"Isben," she growled, breaking into a jog when he walked faster. "Isben."

If his damnable pointed ears could droop like a dog's, they would have. If he had a tail like a dog's, it'd hang between his legs. If he walked on all fours like a dog, he'd be slinking against the ground, trying all his might to be invisible.

If he could repress the Dragon he was, he would not have whirled around to stare Shêzanaré down with orange tinted eyes. She hadn't stopped, only slowed her pace until she was an arm's length away from him. She matched his glare with an indignant one, tilting her chin ever so slightly.

Then, when his frown would not break or his shoulders relax, she sighed. "Isben—"

"I will—" He coughed when his throat expanded, the Thu'um burning at his lungs and tongue. "—Gather my things and—"

"No," she said, taking a step closer to him. "Listen to me—" She reached for his arm, but paused when he glared over her shoulder.

"Prey needn't listen to anything," Vidar said, flexing his fingers as his claws started to form again. "Prey only needs to stand still for me to snap its neck."

Mirmulnir hummed to life in Isben's mind, the Dragon arching its neck back and letting the beginnings of flame flick from its maw. Isben had copied the Dragon's motions, eyeing this werewolf up and down while his throat burned. But he would not let the Dragon have its way—no. Instead, Isben continued walking.

"It is asking to be killed," Vidar spat. He took one lunge forward, then another, and then—

And then Shêza had grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and forced him back to her. He yelped, but she didn't care. "Enough," she hissed. Vidar gawked, glancing between his Prey and his Beauty, before inhaling and squaring his shoulders.

"There had better be a good reason you are letting an outsider walk away. Were I in the Crag, he'd be my breakfast."

"You aren't in the Crag," she said, tightening her grip on his wrist. "And if I ever hear you refer to him as a meal again, I'll feed you to Dragons."

"An interesting statement," Vidar said. "Dragons do not frighten me."

She grinned, all fangs and gums, with no mirth whatsoever. "Then you are stupid."

"That's a bold thing to say. And here I was, delivering meats to your pack so the winter would be more tolerable. You are still incorrigible, it seems."

She ignored his quip. "Meats? We never asked for meats."

"Oh, then that's another point in my favor, yes? You should be even more grateful."

"I'll be more grateful when you leave," she growled.

"Why? Did I ruin your morning, too?" When she said nothing and started her way back to her den, he trailed after her. "Shêzanaré, explain this to me!"

"Why the need for words," she muttered, "when your eyes tell truths?"

Isben turned down tunnels in the Black-Coat den, hoping to find Mabel and his belongings. All of the dividers and passages still looked the same to him, and only a few tunnels were lit with torches. He supposed as werewolves, they didn't need the light to see, and this only made him huff. Isben closed his eyes and turned in a circle. Whatever tunnel he faced when he stopped, he'd go that way.

He thought he had chosen correctly, but when he pulled back the divider, he jumped and felt his spirits dissolve.

First his ears were poked at, then the strange werewolf, and now Shêza's cousin was mouth-to-mouth with Petra.

"I-I-I—" Isben gulped when Ivor snapped his head up, his eyes glowing in the dark. The Dragonborn didn't need a Nirnroot potion to know that Ivor's face had turned as white as snow. "Wrong tunnel," he said before scurrying away.

Isben had hoped that Ivor would leave it at that, but he was flat on his back in a heartbeat, the werewolf pinning him down and digging a dagger next to his head. He swallowed and fumbled for anything to say, anything to do.

"You saw nothing," Ivor hissed. He bared his fangs, and Isben flinched when they were inches away from his face. "If you tell anyone about this, I will rip your throat out and wear it as a necklace." He snapped his teeth together, spittle flying from them, to emphasize his point.

The Dragonborn, who had nearly pissed himself moments before, now frowned and clicked his tongue. "Oh, get off of me," he grunted. "This morning is truly awful. You think I care about who you kiss? Why would I care? I was a professor at The Arcane University; I've seen my students do far worse than have a little lip-lock in a dark corner.

"And," he continued, his brow twitching in irritation, "I'm a thirty-one year old man! Why would I care about the latest gossip of 'who kissed who?' Really," Isben huffed, "is kissing that big of a deal? Now, get off of me. Or I'll Shout at you, too," he added.

Ivor slowly climbed off of the Dragonborn, but stayed close enough in case he made any sudden moves.

Isben sniffed and brushed his poncho. "What? Nothing to say? No threats, no biting, no clawing?"

"Keep your voice down," Ivor muttered, "or you'll wake her."

"Fine by me. Now, if you'd be so kind as to help me find my dog and things, I'll be out of your fur in a heartbeat." Ivor was on his feet in an instant, and Isben had to jog to keep up with his fast strides. "And just so you know," Isben said as they rounded another corner, "if it's mutual between you two, then I wholly approve."

Ivor snarled and whipped his head toward the Dragonborn. "I do not ask for your approval, half-breed."

"Well, I can only assume that since you panicked when I saw you two, not everyone would approve," Isben said.

"It's none of your business."

"True," Isben said. He brushed away a divider, sighing in relief when he entered the Alpha's daughter's chambers and found Mabel dozing in his furs. "True, but isn't it nice to know that someone approves?"

Ivor shifted on his feet as the Dragonborn swung his pack over his shoulder. "You… do not find it disgusting?"

"Disgusting?" Isben snorted and nudged Mabel awake. "Why would I? You're both people, right? Wait, let me guess: you're of a higher status than her, and it would be downright ludicrous if you two ever dreamed of having a life together." He paused, his mouth turning down at the corners. "What does caste, status, or breed matter if it's love?"

Ivor stared at his feet, his forehead furrowed until his brows nearly touched.

"At least your ears don't influence her decision," Isben whispered. He shook his head. "Nevermind. Forget I saw or said anything. Now, if you'd show me to your den entrance, the Dragonborn can carry on with his prophecy. Maybe I'll be killed along the way, and then you'll never have to worry about me saying anything about you or your love."

Ivor locked his gaze with the Dragonborn's, and then finally nodded. "This way," he said.

Vidar was positively grinning from ear to ear when he and his Beauty returned to the den. They had shared more barbs, and each of her witty remarks only made him laugh and spur her further. She was a delightful change from Lavinia. Lavinia, though he would soon pledge his heart, body, and soul to her, would praise him, comply with him, and flaunt her beauty.

His Black Beauty never praised, never complied, and did not flaunt her beauty, though it was as obvious as the change of day and night to him.

Shêza had led him back to the dining chamber, her stomach growling all the way. Of his hunting troupe, only Skafti was present. When he recognized her, he grinned, but quickly ducked his head and kept his eyes averted from her pack members. Askel, Ritta, and Nyssa all glared at him, but whenever Skafti would chance looking up, Nyssa would blush and turn away. This would make Skafti wear a cheeky, shy grin, and then he would duck once more.

Garald frowned when he registered Vidar's lack of attire and raised a brow at his daughter. Shêza only rolled her eyes, and Garald suppressed a chuckle. "Vidar," Garald said, and Reinhart's son was quick to bow. "I have no issues against a morning stroll, but please, clothe yourself. There is a nip in the air, and I would be a poor host if you caught cold."

Vidar nodded. "Your advice is most sound, Alpha Garald. If I may ask, where is the rest of my troupe?" He made himself comfortable next to Skafti and gave his Hunt-Brother's arm a reassuring squeeze.

Nuel cleared his throat while Garald and Nyssa sat beside Shêzanaré. "I'm afraid your troupe of hunters has found entertainment in a servant's duties. They are at the riverbank, scrubbing away." From behind them, Ivor and the Dragonborn stood, both wearing frowns for completely different reasons.

Nuel, having smelled the Alpha's nephew, grinned and continued with, "It appears that one of them—Ebeneser, was it?—has taken a liking to a servant, though I cannot imagine why anyone would fancy Petra—"

Isben grabbed Ivor's arm when he made to march over to the adviser. Ivor hit the Dragonborn's hand away, but he quietly growled and brooded in place. Shêza looked over her shoulder at him, but her eyes quickly swept toward the Dragonborn. Vidar had also noticed the Prey, and he bared his teeth at Isben.

Nyssa looked between the three of them, her eyebrows drawing up in understanding.

"Petra is a good servant," Askel said, "and a good person." Ritta snickered at his words and excused herself, no doubt to laugh herself breathless in privacy.

"Aye," Nuel said, "which explains why she is napping the day away and not seeing to her duties."

"I think we can survive one day without Petra working herself to the bone," Garald said, giving his adviser a pointed look. Nuel had the decency to cough and look away.

"If only we could survive one day without the adviser trying to spread gossip," Askel muttered. Nuel's cold eyes burned with anger. Askel shrugged and smiled.

"Forgive me for intruding on this little banter," Vidar said, "but wouldn't it be preferable if werefolk would survive without the company of outsiders?" He sniffed at the Prey, and Mabel growled at him in turn.

"He is no outsider," Garald said after spotting the Dragonborn quietly edging his way to another tunnel. "He wears my Proving and is one with my pack."

"It must have done something quite outstanding for that," Vidar said carefully.

"Oh, indeed," Nuel muttered. "It impressed the Alpha by brewing a potion. Marvelous, isn't it?"

"Nuel," Garald growled. Nyssa and Shêza glowered at the adviser. "He saved my youngest's life. You would do well to show him the respect he deserves."

"Of course," Nuel said, inclining his head. "After all," he mused, "he is the Dragonborn, is he not?"

Vidar blinked at this news. He and Skafti looked Isben up and down, Skafti smiling at the Dragonborn while Vidar frowned at him. "Well," he said, "then he must be quite the hunter. What is your preference? Elk? Bear? Sabre cat? Mammoth?"

"How about wolf," Isben deadpanned. Fueled by several chuckles, he added, "I can demonstrate on you, if you'd like."

Ivor smirked at this, and Skafti glanced at Nyssa.

"Is that so?" Vidar said. His breathing was becoming heavy, and the beastblood was swimming in his veins, itching to hunt the Prey down. "Then shall we have a hunt? You and me, Dragonborn, and we shall see who can kill the meanest of prey. Vidar, son of Alpha Reinhart, has never lost a hunt before."

"That would not be a fair hunt, then," Ivor said. Everyone in the chamber looked at him. "You have the beastblood, he does not; you can smell game, and he cannot. If there is to be a hunt, I will be part of it."

"One against two?" Vidar asked. "That would not be a fair hunt."

Ivor smiled and opened his arms. "You are an Alpha's son though, no? Surely you are worth two werewolves, so it is a fair hunt." Skafti hummed and bit his lips to keep from chuckling.

Vidar opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "Hypothetically—"

"So?" Isben said. "Prove it to be a theory." Vidar's eyes glowed, and he and the Dragonborn didn't dare look away from each other. Isben had turned a brow up while Vidar bristled.

"Maybe when winter is over," Garald said, sparing the Dragonborn a wink, "when game is no longer sparse."

Loosening his shoulders, Vidar frowned and took a sip of water. "Of course, Alpha Garald." Had he been in his true form, the fur along his neck would have been on end and his ears would have been pinned back. "Whatever you say."

Shêza looked between her Twat and the Wagtail, and shook her head. Male idiocy.

"Mountain flowers," Lorens said as he and his pack brother dunked their clothes in the river, "smell lovely. Why don't we use mountain flowers?"

"Because," Ebeneser said, "we use dragon tongue flowers instead."

"But mountain flowers smell much nicer," Lorens reasoned. "They smell like her, the Black-Coats' prized jewel and treasure. They're red like her hair, too." He stole a peek at Ebeneser and laughed when his Hunt-Brother blushed. "Oh, Ebeneser! You really do fancy her! Someone get Skafti; this is good ballad material!"

"I do not fancy her," Ebeneser sniffed as he wrung out his trousers. "She is a servant, my sister is a servant—I empathize with her."

Kakali snorted and continued sharpening his dagger. "Flowers, laundry, servants, fancies—can you two talk about something masculine for a change? Like hunting. When we return to the Crag, we should hunt mammoth."

"She has red hair," Lorens said. Kakali groaned when his words went ignored. "Ebeneser, you like red hair."

"It is the color of supremacy, of domination, of leadership and wisdom," Ebeneser said. "Such a color is… beautiful."

"Or maybe I'll hunt the giants instead," Kakali muttered.

"She is a lovely woman," Lorens agreed. "Sweet, kind, beautiful, and humble. Such characteristics are ideal for an Alpha female."

Kakali grimaced and threw a ball of snow at Lorens. "Oh, really? Can she defend herself? Can she protect her pack? Does she know how to hunt?" When Lorens twisted his mouth, Kakali sneered. "No, she cannot. Therefore, she is not an ideal candidate for Alpha female."

"Why the offense, Kakali?" Ebeneser asked.

"Because," he said, "you two need to get your priorities straight. Instead, you fill your heads with talk of love, beauty, and ballads. Nonsense!"

"You were not born into the Tangled-Knots," Lorens said, "so therefore you cannot understand our priorities. We value beauty, Brother."

"The Black-Coats do not value beauty," Kakali said. "This servant is just another pack member to them."

"Not to all of them," Ebeneser said, remembering the Brute who had given off that scent.

"She has red hair," Kakali said, "while everyone else in the pack does not. From this, I gather she was not born into the pack. Because I wasn't born into the Tangled-Knots, I can empathize with her, Ebeneser. I had to prove myself tenfold to become a hunter, and I can only imagine that since this female is a servant, not a hunter, that she has encountered much hostility within that pack.

"What our kind should value, Brothers," Kakali said slowly, "is survival."