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As Burzum found himself shuffled back to the sidelines and relegated once more to the role of spectator rather than participant, the cub couldn't help feeling a bit sulky. He had enjoyed his taste of glory, and found it all too fleeting.

He watched the tawny lion who'd been the first to remark on his performance and then the first to dismiss him as he fought and decided that he wasn't anything special. He wasn't going to ask that one to train him. And maybe that had a little something to do with feeling a bit butthurt and being so quickly forgotten.

A lion that Burz had earlier thought of as being the biggest, most-scarred, and oldest lion was making his way around the crowd toward the sulking youth. He had a sooty grey coat and amber eyes that might seem oddly familiar to Burz, since his uncles had the same eyes, as did Kazul. Burz may have been the first lion to notice that similarity, but he would not be the first to remark on it.

"You said you're related to the Warlord?" Vol asked in a low, rumbling tone. It was actually pretty obvious, given the cub's facial markings, but Vol wanted to give the cub a chance to back out and rescind his assertion if it hadn't been the truth after all. There were such things as coincidences, after all, and the resemblance could have been coincidental.

It startled Burzum to be addressed by the very lion he'd picked out before as likely the best reaver in the group. His sullenness lifted as a prideful glow began to take its place. He'd been noticed. But being noticed by the lion he'd wanted to notice him didn't mean he was going to relax his guard.

"Yes. I'm Burzum Herryksson," the young lion declared in a defiant growl. "Aesir is my grandsire."

He glowered fiercely up at the lion, daring him to call him a liar like the stupid spotted cub had done. Burz wouldn't fly at him, but he'd make sure the spirits tormented him. He could do that. Or he could become a ghost again and torment him, himself.

Well, that confirmed it. Vol hadn't realized that any of the Warlord's cubs had spawned, but since he had said that he was Herryk's son, and Vol was pretty certain Herryk wasn't the son who was suddenly spending all this time with Aesir or the son who spent all his time with Aesir's green daughter he didn't feel that there was a problem with his ignorance.

"On the b*****d side," the older lion observed, reminding the cub of his heritage to see how he would react to that provocation, and if it would be with the same spectacular fury he had demonstrated against that other unfortunate cub.

When he saw how Burzum's fur began to stand up along he spine he told him, "Don't bristle. It's the truth. There are worse things to be than a b*****d."

As it had done when the other cub called him a liar and insulted his voice, the fur along his spine stood up and his tail began to lash. He just couldn't help it. But he could help what he did next, and what he did not do. and what he did not do was attack the lion he hoped would take him on as a student. Maybe he was being tested.

"Like a bad fighter?" Burz ventured.

He was making a real effort here. He hadn't spent enough time among the pride to know what the connotations of being a b*****d actually were, but he could tell from the older lion's tone of voice that it wasn't a good thing, and that had indeed made him bristle. Even if the lion did have the most perfect voice a reaver could possibly have. Burzum envied that voice.

So he could control himself. That was good to know, Vol thought to himself. It was much more difficult to train a lion who could not control his temper. Not that Vol was considering training this particular cub. He had another black-eyed youth who came around and nagged him for training tips already. He didn't need a second.

"That's right," Vol agreed, even though that wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking. It was no less correct than what Vol had been thinking, and in this situation a good deal more relevant.

"On that subject, who trained you to fight like that?"

Unable to detect whether he was being asked this question because he'd fought well or because he'd fought poorly, Burz answered cautiously. In reality, he wasn't a cub who tended to rush into things head-first. He had attacked that way one time, just now, but that wasn't really how he preferred to do things. He was more of a cunning fighter who laid traps for his opponents. But maybe that wasn't how reavers were supposed to fight?

"No one trained me. He insulted my family and...and I couldn't let him get away with that."

Actually, he'd been about to add that his voice had been insulted, but that would call attention to his voice, which so far the older lion had not done, and as long as he didn't, Burz didn't intend to. Burz really didn't like his voice.

"I'd guessed as much," Vol said. "Your opponents won't all be that easy. You should spend less time in the trees and more time training."

He waited to see if Burzum would bristle at this, but apparently the youth's temper was only triggered by remarks about his family. Vol had not heard what had actually been said between the two cubs to begin the fight. He hadn't taken any notice of it until he'd seen a white streak dart beneath someone's belly and pin a dark splotch to the ground, and then he'd drawn nearer to overhear talk of proper form for challenges and everything that followed.

"Anyway, if your father isn't training you, you should find someone else to do so before you're put at a disadvantage to the others your age whose families are teaching them to fight."

There was no point in arguing about his father. Burz's father could train him to do many things, but Burz refused to ask him to train him to fight. He had never even seen his father fight. For all he knew, his father was like his Odd-Uncle and simply didn't. Besides, Vol hadn't put this suggestion in such a way that anyone was insulted.

"That's why I'm here," Burzum exclaimed in frustration. "I'm trying to find the best reaver there is and get him to train me."

He couldn't help the mildly adoring look that followed this when he looked at Vol, just as he couldn't help looking hopeful. That was about as broad a hint as he could bring himself to drop on the topic. Surely it would be enough. After all, the scarred reaver had sought him out, had he not? That had to mean something.

"Ah. You might talk to a reaver named Gaved in that case." Vol recognized the look in the cub's face, but he wasn't about to take on any more hopeful cubs.

His chin dropped toward his chest as he considered the matter. It was likely Gaved would refuse to have anything to do with Burzum because of his fey viikingborn heritage. Not to mention considerations of what sort of teacher Gaved might be. Perhaps he ought to offer the cub an alternative.

"You could also ask your grandfather, you know. As the Warlord, it's expected that he be among the best captains in the pride."

Burz wasn't stupid. He knew he was being put off and told, basically, he would not be receiving his training at this reaver's paws. For some reason he felt disappointed and a little inadequate as if he hadn't measured up. That was a new feeling for Burz, and he didn't like it.

On the other hand, he could ask his grandfather. That would definitely be better than whatever lion Skog had found to train him. There couldn't be a better warrior than the Warlord.

"I'll think about it. But if I decide I'd rather train outside of the family so no one will think the Warlord's going easy on me because we're related, how do I find Gaved?"

Well, there was a hazard avoided, Vol thought with relief. It seemed the idea of training with someone as illustrious as the Warlord had struck a chord with the youth. Evidently he had not heard either version of the story of how Aesir came to be the Warlord.

"He's going to be married soon, I hear, and will be moving to a new den. I don't know where that will be. But if you spend enough time here you'll surely see him. He's a ruthless fighter. Brown coat. Old blood, too."

Probably that last bit wouldn't make a bit of difference to Burzum, but it did to some people, and it couldn't hurt the little fey cub to have his name attached to someone who was both respected and a little feared in the pride. Vol thought he had done well in picking out alternative mentors for the black-eyed boy.

And now that his task was accomplished, Vol asked, "Did you see that?" to direct Burzum's attention back to the sparring match and melted back into the crowd while the cub was distracted.

Burz nodded, committing to memory what he was told. There was something about the way Vol was careful when he spoke of Gaved that told Burz he ought to ask other people about the lion before seeking him out, but since he was a second choice anyway, that shouldn't be an issue. Burz couldn't imagine his grandfather refusing to train him. He was training his Uncle Calder, after all.

"No!" Burz whispered, his head whipping back to the fight. Whatever he was supposed to have seen, he had missed.

When he turned back to say so, the soot-colored lion was gone. Burz wished briefly that he could have convinced that lion to take him on. He was so cool. Then he shook his head and went back to watching the fight. He was going to train with the Warlord.