blooding the hounds of hell - round six

He was late – but he had been a distance away when his father had called out. The swarthy boy came upon the scene, his ears slick upon his skull and his muzzle lower in regret for being late, and as he sidled closer to the group, his eyes flashed in the direction of his parents and brother. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he offered lowly, the scent of elk thick upon the air as he lowered his muzzle in submission and apology.
 
He had missed the group assigning, and trotting after his father, he waited for differing direction if Lasher disagreed – his lateness might even exclude him from the hunt.