The Bracken Woods there is no absolution for the fallen

If Vercingetorix had known that Gavriel considered himself "tagging along" with his little brother, it would have boosted his ego even further. The ten month old boy had been a spitfire since the day he was born, lacking the maturity and calmness of his siblings. Even his littermate, Llyr, seemed more mature than he did. As was the culture, Vercingetorix had been trained since the moment he could stand on his own four feet. Unlike many others, though, he didn't gain the somber personality. Instead, Vercingetorix dealt with the hard upbringing with humor, sarcasm, and jokes... which often led to trouble.

"Come on," his brother demanded, and Vercingetorix rolled his dual colored eyes when Gavriel's back was turned to him. "As you wish, oh Great One," he replied in a mocking tone, quickening his pace. He knew it was likely to get him a good beating, but the younger wolf didn't mind. He'd had so many for his unwanted behavior that it hardly fazed him now.