It had returned of course as they retreated, though it was at that point, as he came down off the high of battle that he realized he'd been wounded. He had known that the male had gotten in his fair share of attacks but he hadn't felt any of them until the adrenaline began to rapidly burn out of his system. The wounds on his neck, where the other had gone for his throat were inconveniently painful and itchy, each time he moved his head he resisted the urge to cringe, feeling the tug and pull of split flesh and due to the fact that he could not really reach it he could not effectively apply the basic medicines that would perhaps help them to heal faster and at least rid him of pain or the cumbersome itch of them as they tried to being their plight to heal.

Týrr, never prepared to let a few wounds (for there was a bunch of smaller ones beneath his fur from the conflict) slow him down or keep him from his self appointed duty of patrolling and filling the food caches, kept on trudging on. Spring was upon them now, though, and the Rekker held to him the assertion that the prey would return to the Wilds, bountiful and if they were lucky with new generations soon to be or already on the way. 'Twas the soft sound of sniffling that attracted the Rekkr's attention, had his ears cupping forth and then spaying to the sides of his skull as he initially picked it up, attempting to determine the origin of it's source. He was not far from her and came upon her soon, at first mistaking the soft flame to be his wildfire Queen. Though he had not thought that Tuwawi would ever cry (it was a silly thing to think but she did not strike him as the crying type); he realized his mistake shortly following. Maera had certainly grown much since he'd last seen her, though the last time he had really had the chance to see her was when the present had been left upon their doorstep and his attention had been solely upon Tuwawi, everything else shadowed in the brilliance of her presence to the love-struck puppy smitten Rekkr.

“Maera?” Týrr called to her softly, closing some of the initial distance but letting a polite space between them. He desired to move closer, to comfort the girl, his beloved Queen's daughter and look-alike but for the sake of not wishing to upset her further, or invade any personal space he withheld. “What troubles you?” He inquired with the intent to soothe her, though soon after he drew in a sharp breath, a hiss of pain as he accidentally moved his head to fast and sharp pain resounded through his lower neck, close to his throat where the wounds trailed their target evident, as the muscle and torn flesh tugged and pulled. His stomach roiled from the intensity of it and for a moment he feared he might lose his breakfast in front of her. A slow, forced breath was taken in the next moment in attempts to master it and he fixed her in his crystalline gaze once more, intent to focus upon her.