Moonspear cadw addewid

Of all the wolves to come and greet them, Llewellyn did not necessarily expect the dark young man. He has grown so much over the past moons, from the gangly boy the king had once known to the yearling stood before him, face inscrutable. Arcturus, he murmurs in warm greeting, dipping his nose respectfully. I—

But before any sort of introductions or pleasantries are made, the sentry gives news that sends Llewellyn's stomach plummeting. Dead. It cannot be. His eyes widen, mouth suddenly dry as he tries to formulate adequate words. There are none. There never will be, for this kind of moment.

I am so sorry, he finally croaks, shaking his head. How? When? There are so many questions and none of them are appropriate; all he can do now is mourn Charon and Amekaze, and wonder what to do next. Will their successor still be willing to utilize his warrior? Llewellyn casts a slightly-awkward glance at Cadogan before returning his gaze to Arcturus, face grave.

I am forever in debt of their kindness and hospitality, the king says solemnly. He nods toward the young warrior at his side. I promised them when I left that I—if I survived my war at home—would bring a soldier to take my place here. I have returned to keep that promise. This is Cadogan; I can vouch for his skill and loyalty, and he is pleased to serve in your ranks.

He turns to the other wolf of Mynydd, then, letting the youth take the reins of the conversation. No more can be said or done on his part; Llewellyn must let Cadogan make his own case, if he is to survive and thrive here.