It was good, Cyrus deduced, to see Hamied smile. Though he had not always paid such close attention to the younger Frostfur, Cyrus felt himself struggle to remember the last time the younger boy had smiled that he had noticed it. Cyrus felt a soft snort leave his lips, and he insincerely rolled his eyes at the goofy grin that had split Hamied’s muzzle. “Such a strange kid,” Cyrus teased. Unlike their older siblings, however, he did not mean this in any sort of malicious way. It was purely a jest, because in Cyrus’ mind calling Hamied strange was like calling Cyrus strange because he, too, was different. There was nothing wrong with standing out of the mainframe, Cyrus had always believed. Everyone looked different and their own personalities for a reason. It was not a reason to mock or bully; but most of their siblings were just boneheads, though how they had gotten to be such was clearly, beyond the Huntsman’s (Jr, haha) capabilities of understanding.
Lips leveled into a pensive line upon his raven (ink?) colored muzzle as the dark bear of a Frostfur glimpsed around the small clearing once more, pale, frosted green eyes surveying the area as a sentry would, once more. It seemed safe enough, and Cyrus trusted in his scent warning to do a lot of the hefty work in the terms of predators and other wolves. “If you’re tired I could go hunting alone and you could rest,” Cyrus was not opposed to this idea. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and Hamied, and did not mind bearing the weight of his job as older brother. Likely, this was the Isi and Aether in him. “I won’t go too far that I could not hear you if you were to howl,” The six mile range was impressive and though the bulk of Cyrus did not make him the fastest wolf out there, he would trample down anyone/anything that stupidly got in his way if Hamied was in danger.