The Sentinels wayward son

poor aria!

with the arrival of spring, lasher's world had brightened in many ways, but the spectre of casmir's unexpected decision to depart abruptly and the fact that caiaphas had attacked and badly wounded one of his wolves weighed upon him and brought grimness to tug at his lips again. he patrolled alone and silently, his days broken only by the joyous voices of his daughters and the comfort of blue willow's loving embrace. tachyon was tended well -- he did not know how eilidh would receive the news that the man loved another -- and donnelaith had grown in its ranks.

today the voices of his pale witches rose above the proud upthrust of the redwood forest and the druid paused, for they spoke of a child he did think he would see again. prodigal constantine. for a moment, taltos did not rush to attend them -- he merely let his surprise dissipate, and with its death came a satisifying joy in its stead.

and so he moved from his perch to the borders, directly after aria had left them, and stood with proud eyes fixed upon his dark son, tall, handsome, the bloom of youth full upon him. "mo mhac, mo mhac," he breathed, stepping forward with the gentle fall of a tear upon his cheek, to reach, to take the unfamiliar scent of constantine's coat into his senses, though he knew the scent of his own blood in that proud heart. he did not know if the young wolf still held the tongue of the glen within his knowledge, but the words had risen unbidden in his throat.

"tá tú ag teacht ar ais chugainn."  lasher embraced his son then, drawing him close, knowing that eilidh and little deirdre would join them. when the moment had passed, he released constantine and looked to eilidh for a heartbeat. "aria was here. i imagine she granted him entry. it is given, of course."

"constantine. tell us of your travels. come; we will go to find your mother and emaleth while we talk."