Redhawk Caldera in a field of broken antlers, i'm holy

I should wait for her, Baal thinks to himself over and over like a record skipping that singular line. I should wait for her, I should wait. Wait. I should. Wait. He thinks it to himself, even going to far as to mouth it like a mantra lest he dare forget it the whole journey but in the end he does not take his own advice. He does not wait for his sister. There is some part of him, some desperate and terrified part of Baal that fears that she will never come for him. That she unabashedly and tremendously angry with him for standing his ground and defying her command: for the following argument that had ensued with heated words and snarls spit between the two. He might have snapped his teeth at her. He can’t even remember anymore. It might be his mind adding it in the height of his anxiety as he agonizes over it. Maybe she will never forgive him. It’s not as if she had been expecting it, he knows. He’s never risen his voice at her or Hann. He always simply …went along with what they wanted because that was what he’d looked to them for. For guidance. For leadership.

A pack’s scent grows strong, saturating the cold, hard earth and trees and it he stops, his steps coming to an abrupt halt. He’s not disassociated to the point where that does not draw him out of his anxiety ridden thoughts (and woe to the day that it doesn't). He adjusts himself so he is plenty far away from their borders and sinks into a submissive pose, tail tucked, ears splayed back and belly to the ground as he agonizes over calling or not. He could walk away, he was not committed …and even if he did call there was no guarantee they would accept him: though it’s not a particularly assuring thought he uses it as a security blanket all the same. He’s not good with socializing: that was always Hann’s forte. He was the smooth talker, the silver tongue. Charming. They were nothing alike. If not for the fact that they looked identical to one another none would even think they were related and the thought picks at the wound his brother’s murder has left in his heart.

You don’t have to do this, Baal assures himself. You don’t have to do this but you know that your sister might never forgive you. Might never come for you. So, in theory, he kind of has to do this, is the end conclusion Baal comes to. Or, at the very least he has to try. After taking a shaky breath he lifts his muzzle skyward and lets out a howl announcing his presence for the guardians and leadership.