“The ice-pup looks about two winters old, completely silent, just watching the screen,” I said, shifting my grip on the communicator.“My bloodline elder units are expanding their demands beyond a standard mating alliance now,” Job replied from the glowing interface, his voice competing with the low hum of the arena heaters in the background. “They are ordering me to produce an heir line immediately. Look at this tiny scout. She belongs to my direct cousin. Her biological formation is quite optimal, isn’t it?”“You should instruct your creators to manufacture another unit for their own den then,” I cracked, leaning back against the timber locker. “Regardless of their frantic administrative demands, your loyalty belongs exclusively to my vanguard.”“Have your senses completely frozen over on the northern rinks? If my tongue dares to deliver an evaluation like that to my sire, his battle-axe will sever my lower runners before the next moon,” Job snapped, his vocal chords vibrating with
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