Snow had come again to mantle the Wilds, dipping and curving over the contours of the land. He had hunted well that night, the last of many he had spent away from the wood. He paused only when he noted the fresh scents, understood, then, that they had returned. He ought to have expected the pale girl to be a precursor for the rest of them, ought to have know that they would not leave the wood for long, even if evicted by force.
He caught here the scent of his sister, and wondered briefly if @Astrid still led them. Surely not, for he had never doubted her incompetence (stemming, perhaps from sibling rivalry not even the raven was immune to) and he wondered briefly how the pack would regard a leader that stood at the helm of their exodus from the Wood. Here too was the scent of his father, however, the scents of his brothers were absent. Tipping back his muzzle, he called lowly for @Kove, the song reaching over the boughs and deep into the wood. Perhaps they would have noted his presence, perhaps the girl had spoken of him. He knew not how they would receive him, and yet he had words and fangs, and thus the thought was of little consequence.
He caught here the scent of his sister, and wondered briefly if @Astrid still led them. Surely not, for he had never doubted her incompetence (stemming, perhaps from sibling rivalry not even the raven was immune to) and he wondered briefly how the pack would regard a leader that stood at the helm of their exodus from the Wood. Here too was the scent of his father, however, the scents of his brothers were absent. Tipping back his muzzle, he called lowly for @Kove, the song reaching over the boughs and deep into the wood. Perhaps they would have noted his presence, perhaps the girl had spoken of him. He knew not how they would receive him, and yet he had words and fangs, and thus the thought was of little consequence.
The ghost was well within the depths of the woods when a howl rang out, a low pitch summoning him to the borders. He held still for a moment, his mind working the voice over within it, but he could not place a name to it. It was vaguely familiar, but not enough to draw forth any sort of paternal yearnings that should have been there; if any could inspire such a feeling, it was the children born from his union with Scarlett alone. With a grunt—a rare case of irritation from the aging Inuk, perhaps, over his inability to place the voice—he started towards the borders.
His arrival was neither quick nor slow, head and tail raising upon spotting the child—that is all he would ever be to Kove—at his borders. There was a newly formed intensity burning within his gaze, directed towards the boy. He looked different now, finely aged with his growth completed at last, yet the northerner could not forget who he was; a son that he’d never been able to connect with. With his maw drawn into a tight-lipped frown, he asked, “Why are you back?” He had not missed the child, not like he knew, deep down, that he should have.
He was met with silence, something that did not surprise him in even the slightest. Like Atshen, Abraxas had made it clear long ago that it was not his father’s ruling that he abided by—in fact, it often seemed as if he answered to no one, which was a truly troubling state of mind. Kove did not wait around for very long, his son soon chased away following the continuation of silence. And, in doing so, he felt the last sliver of a familial bond between them snap, the silvery creature disowned just the same as his dark-coated brother had been so long ago.
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