Chapter Text
Wolf took after his bearer more in height, cresting and body type. Taller and slighter than most.
Her crest had been spiked and crenelated but his fell between the two parents and the distinct appearance often made others look twice at him- unable to place his bloodline on sight.
There were supernumerary tusks on his mandibles. They had erupted surprising them both, when he was young blood, giving him another way to be different from his sire.
But his colouring was almost all his father's side, grey green with sabling where his mother was striped and speckled in bright poison warnings.
His father was shorter than him by a half head when he was fully grown, but broad enough for the both of them.
He couldn't remember much of his bearer, not much of his life before other than vague memories of a watery playground, of small creatures to chase in the mud and trees.
A fire pit in a bare ground hut and a nest of warm furs, furniture made of carved twisted wood and a mother's presence. They ate meat and roots and plants and spineless mud creatures.
He remembered the final day when barely more than a youngling, she'd introduced him to his father, an imposingly big yautja with metal armour more elaborate than the bone and hide ones he'd only seen so far, weapons at his hip and back and a fearsome spike fringed mask with claw marks scored in crisscross parallels on it. And he was passed over to him into his care.
A new lifetime of training and spars, weapons, hunts, and gutting and bare necessities.
He only called him father once. After that, he addressed him as only as Cross.
He'd boarded the ship, and that was the last he knew of her. An unknown planet in his memory and a no name mother.
He was trained and trained hard from the start. His father, an elite enforcer, was tough, but fair. He taught him everything he could, and it took. By the time he became blooded, he had already been on a dozen missions with his father against xenos. His blooding was simply his first solo.
Although they met other yautja in passing- he socialized very little, letting his father do most of the interactions, the deals and business. The reports to elders and comms.
He stayed ship side often, sitting out on breeding season one after another of the years after his blooding, left alone there by his sire.
Then one day, Cross returned with a youngling. Another boy child, the patterning and facial features closer this time, but the relationship was clear.
A half brother.
A replacement.
He was sent out with his own ship at least, but was left to forge his own way.
He had the yautja honour code drilled deeply into him and could bank on the vast array of skills he had been taught, but knew little more.
He could investigate. He could apply himself in crafting unique weaponry, and was adept at his hunts, finding and catching rare and dangerous prey, as well as other yautja, a distinctly more risky target. He became renown and entered the ranks of the elite, was welcomed on yautja prime during breeding seasons, and was a sought after mate.
He tended to attract ambitious women, and that often translated as pelvis crushingly terrifying. He was pleased to get that sort of attention, it was an honour, but also not quite the sort of honourable death he wanted to die by either. It certainly didn't feel prestigious when you'd gotten bruised from dewclaws to crest with a concussion on top- all for a few hard fought seconds of bliss that at least promised pups with a strong mother... only to have to keep an eye on a close exit and weigh how to escape with your hide broadly intact when you... let go.
He'd gone to healers with worse injuries fucking than he had through hunting.
He sometimes found himself often remote from the larger yautja meets during breeding season at times. Choosing quieter isolated clans that didn't know who he was except a healthy unrelated male.
He must have had dozens of pups by now, but had never seen them. Their bearers content with raising them without contact from him, the brief mating sufficient, and the notification of the live suckling the only evidence of his line.
He had no intentions of mirroring the father he was raised by. No real wishes to pass on or share the solitary direct life path he was on, where at any moment, he might find death on a mission.
After long years, there was only him.
His home was a tall ceiling'd stone walled apartment. A prestigious accommodation within the higher levels of the city with access to a view and landing pad for his ship. Gifted as his rank and accolades grew.
It's high walls were adorned with trophies, not just skulls but the many masks of his badblood hunts as well.
A training room also held his arsenal, a large armoury of weapons.
It was all centred entirely around his solitary life and work of the hunt, with bare room for anything else. Even the one room with decent seating was his command centre, set around a throne like console chair for data gathering and communications.
He seemed to live mostly in his command chair and at his gutting station when he was there. Barely looking out anymore at the skyline of desert and mesa and his personal ship dock.
His interactions with others outside of missions was brief. A few contacts for information, made familiar after decades.
Some yautja who gave him guidance and shelter, provided places to stop. Wait things out or restock.
There were quick sexual flings, faces soon forgotten, often just quick harsh things to satisfy an itch, no softness or lingering. Not much better than the one off matings with those females just wanting proof of a stong bloodline along with his reputation.
...So he didn't understand why right now, he was stalking nervously and rashly around the guest wing of the assembly buildings at yautja prime. Completely at a loss at his own actions and almost furious about it.
Wondering at the fucked up way he felt, and wanting nothing more than to desperately find the person who had ignited it.