*:･ﾟ✦ OCTAVIAN
—— heaven knows i'm miserable now | tag *:･ﾟ✦
Wandering listlessly through the sun-dappled forest of long-shed leaves, the massive brute slowed to a delicate halt, his forepaw lifting slowly in the soft, chilled air. He shook it, petite specks of frosty snow flying every which way, a minuscule snowstorm in its own right. His muted grey optics swept across the frigid landscape, the ground covered in a fine dust of ashen white snow. This was the venue. The obscure space carved out of BlizzardClan territory in which he had been stumbled upon by Sango. The dark Valkyrie whom had claimed him as her long-lost son.
The proud, prestige-chasing fragment of Octavian's psyche had been pleased to be claimed as her son. She, who had been the infamous and brutal leader of the Shadow Veil. Although before he would have simply been blissfully, ignorantly, content enough to reside simply in his small makeshift pack for the rest of his natural life, made up of his many childhood peers, this simplistic contentment was impossible in the curious culture of the clans. Suddenly relations seemed to matter - blood, professional, or otherwise. Family names were found everywhere. Some blue-blooded, venerable, and storied; others fleeting and terribly unknown. But Sango was a Harbringer, and that made him one too.
A fortunate birth could now be checked off his metaphorical checklist. The masculine was slowly rising through the ranks of his new home as well, the kingdom of the tundras. A self-made man, before the revelation of his well-embellished heritage. The social elevation was as gradual as the rising sun in the pale pink light of dawn, but it was also constant and steady. With this professional recognition seemed to come name recognition and acceptance by his more established clanmates, native or otherwise. The future was never concretely certain, but already Octavian was formulating long-term plans.
The young beast was maturing, his blanched oculars languidly opening to the vast, expansive world before him. A family, a legacy, biological offspring was a prospect that was slowly becoming more and more inviting. But wolves, direwolves or otherwise, could not propagate alone. In time, he would surely come across a suitable consort, a life partner to hold onto, to defend and shield. But for now, no such maidens - or otherwise - was clear to him in BlizzardClan. So, he would continue working on himself - building himself up and establishing his name, immersing himself in the competitive society he now called home.
"Speech."