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He was feeling...some type of way. But he wasn't sure what exactly he was feeling. He had been hanging out around Grimoire alot, quietly helping the man prepare different meals, hunting (even though he majorly sucked at it), but there was something about the quiet male that Ansem appreciated...he wasn't expected to talk if he didn't want to, which honestly, ever since his incident during the flood, he tried to avoid talking as much as possible. Grimoire told him he had gotten hit pretty hard and ended up under water, but honestly, Ansem couldn't remember any of it. Occasionally he did have nightmares of drowning and he'd startle awake feeling like he couldn't breathe...beyond that? He had no idea what had happened other than what he had been told. The result? His nightmares...a stutter that no matter how hard he tried, simply would not go away, and the occasional piercing migraine that would plague him quite often. He didn't know if there would be any other lasting effects, but so far from what he could tell, it was just the stutter and the migraines...sometimes he felt like he couldn't balance very well, but he figured that was just something he never noticed before.

Standing at the edge of the shore, he stared out over the water, feeling the waves gently tug at his toes as he stood just close enough for them to touch. He hadn't really told mom or anyone of what he was dealing with...Grimoire knew, of course, since he'd been spending a lot of time around him and learning how to make stews, prepping animals to cook, brewing, and quite a number of other things that mostly involved some sort of alchemy in a sense. He avoided being out in the public eye as much as possible, but it was hard sometimes with so many pack members milling about. He sighed, gaze turning to watch the sun start to slowly dip. Night would approach soon...and though he knew he ought to return to the den soon to help Grimoire prep some things for tomorrow, he figured a few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

"Speech!"

The Warlord made his way slowly down the dark shore. The black sand hot beneath his pads as each step dug into the soft surface. A pale form stood out against the darker tone, and he angled his form to take himself towards Ansem. Aris’ child looked lost in thought as the Warlord came to a stop beside him.

For a long moment, the Warlord simply took in the same sights, his own thoughts heavy on his mind. Retirement was just around the corner now, and the last of his affairs were wrapping up. “How are you doing?” He asked quietly into the silence, angling his eyes down to the younger wolf.


"Speech"