Milo, who would one day fancy himself a king of sorts, had the unfortunate gift of a poor immune system. He had shown an atypical lack of enthusiasm during the plague, and had been even more lethargic during the journey— onset of an illness that had him in poor condition for over a week. His slow recovery might've also had something to do with the absence of bountiful nutrients. Saena's milk was thin, and weaning was difficult given the general lack of prey. But stale immunity did not overcome the whelp. He could not be treated, so when he started to liven up again it seemed a case of mere mind over matter; his curiosity driving him into health, and his eagerness to explore his growing senses plucking him from the clutches of illness.

Laurel and Indra were asleep when the dark smudge between them stirred, his ears perking fully (for the first time without any flop at the tips) and his milk-blue eyes squinting against the light as he adjusted. He looked to his left, and then to his right, making a squeaky growl at his sisters so that he might rouse them. But neither stirred at first, and he became distracted by the movement of a large beetle in his peripheral. His head swiveled, tipping back and forth as he tried to make sense of the bug before rising to his oversized paws and plodding towards it with hesitant intent.

The shiny black body of the insect marched towards the den's entrance, and he followed it, batting it out into the sunlight and he exited with it.