Running is all he could do. Breath harsh as wolves howl in the distance. Turning to see his persurers, but unable to distinguish anything from the encroaching shadows. Teeth clack together, them grind in fury. How dare they!? Passes thrangly through his mind. For betrayal burns deep. No one to turn to for there's no one to trust. A gurgling cry rises, causing him to look down. Eyes go soft at the sight if his young son. There is yet one to betray him, for he is too young to understand the world. Being a few month old. The Throne shall pass down to this babe. He'll be a warrior first, than a monarch. But before that can happen they need to get away. Whirling around at the snap of a branch, only to calm. For out of the shadow pads three massive wolves his house is known for. Two of them harnessed and the third laden with supplies. So there's still loyal men out there? With that thought he mounts one of the wolves that easily tower over him, and fades into the night. The shadows now his closest ally.
