Despite himself, the Killing Moon couldn’t help but be impressed. He had arrived at the ocean, cresting the dune and looking down at the water just in time to watch a hulking Kiokote drag a whale shark out of the surf and onto the sand. It was no small creature he had in a vice grip by the tail, very much dead already, which suggested he had wrestled the creature to death out in the surf. Even more impressive then.

He glanced back at his pack; the wolves, the eaglehound, the spectral hounds. They gazed back at him with patient hunger. They hadn’t fed in ages. It had been a long walk following the call and they’d barely slowed to eat.

His gaze returned to the whale shark. A fine feast indeed.

The Killing Moon rarely asked for a payment when bestowed a blessing but surely this fellow would be happy to share his bounty. He flicked an ear back, wordlessly commanding his pack to stay where they were, and then he started down the dune, hooves sinking into the soft sand, making his way towards the Kiokote.

The closer he got, the bigger the other kin seemed to get. Broad, spiked, a long lashing tail. He’d finally dragged the whale completely out of the water but hadn’t stopped yet. He had started pulling parallel to the beach, clearly about to take it somewhere.

The Killing Moon cleared his throat.

“That’s quite the catch you have there,” he called out.

The beast of a Kiokote stopped immediately and raised his head. Big teeth. Narrowed eyes. “It’s mine,” he said immediately, flatly. Then he went back to his task of dragging his catch along.

The Killing Moon had tensed, sensing a threat and ready to retaliate.

After a second the moment passed.

“I’m not here for that,” the stag replied pleasantly. Mostly the truth. The potential meal was only a recent desire. “I am here to bless you.” The Kiokote was watching him warily, mouth full of whale, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He didn’t stop dragging and The Killing Moon paced beside him at a safe distance. “You’re to be a father.”

This information didn’t have any effect.

Either he didn’t care or he already knew.

“I can bless them,” The Killing Moon ventured. “For strength, power.”

The Kiokote stopped, dropped the whale shark tail and tipped his head back until his neck cracked loudly. “Won’t need it.”

No, they probably wouldn’t.

“Perhaps intelligence then?” He tried, a little dry.

He received a show of teeth in response. No sense of humour, shame.

“Are you really going to eat all of this?” The Killing Moon asked, trying a different tact.

“They’ll be hungry,” he grunted. “Need food.” He looked as if he was going to go back to his task but then stopped, staring at the stag as if he’d finally reached the limit to his patience and was wondering why some random stranger was talking to him. “What do you want?”

No games. Make it simple.

He could appreciate that.

“I did want some,” The Killing Moon admitted, eyeing the catch. “But it seems to be going to a good place and I can hunt my own food.” He sighed. “I was sent to bless you. To make it easier. Not just on you but on your partner. If you want it.”

The Kiokote glanced backwards, towards the cliffs, riddled with sea-worn caves. And for the first time, he seemed to consider it.

It was then the stag realized that maybe this wasn’t who he was meant to be talking to. He’d come across the wrong parent. The other one was clearly not far away, awaiting dinner, and would probably be far more amenable. Maybe.

“Big teeth,” the Kiokote suddenly grunted.

“Sorry?”

“Big. Teeth.” He repeated slowly, as if The Killing Moon was stupid.

How rude.

“I - you want me to bless them with big teeth?”

“And good hunting.”

“Big teeth and good hunting.” Well, there were worse things. Both were very useful traits. “Very well then, may they be born with their father’s teeth-”

“No!” The Kiokote snapped, interrupting. “Just big teeth!”

The Killing Moon bared his own teeth for a second before he got himself under control. “Very - well, may they be born with ‘just big teeth’ and ‘good hunting’. Exactly as asked. Is that all?”

The Kiokote was looming. Very large. They were around the same height but the other had far more bulk. “Will they be healthy?” He rumbled, dangerously close, as if it was a threat.

“Yes,” The Killing Moon replied with a wolf-grin that said ‘try me’. “Of course.”

They stared at each other, assessing, until finally the Kiokote backed down. Turned aside as if The Killing Moon was nothing now, not worth a second more of his time. “Go away,” was all he said as he picked up the whale tail once more and began to drag it once more.

Dismissed, The Killing Moon watched, mouth twisted into a scowl. When he shifted into a wolf, the fur along his spine was bristled with annoyance. He returned to his pack, let their yips and whimpers and licks tend to his tempers and when he was ready, they set off to hunt.