The black lion lounged under a tree, bright amber eyes narrowed and watching the horizon. He was well inside Ghost Peaks territory and he knew it, but taunting Altair was what he did best. That big box of a male had taken his pride and Fable was always ready to flinct some pain on his. He hated nothing like he hated Altair, and it caused him no pain to say he'd happly chase the male out if he ever got bored enough, but for now he was happy with taunting the male and messing with his pride.