The youth was late. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t show. No, when he heard Mithras’ call he knew he had to be there. So bounding through the snow the mute wolf would go, his mind, his thoughts, focused on finding the astral man. He was certain that his brother, Domnio, would be there as well. It wasn’t like Dom to really wander far, unlike Anselm had. Likely worrying his brother to death to boot. The young man would keep his ears flicked back, worry gnawing at his gut. Would Domino yell at him?
How he despised yelling. How he despised how he was unable to talk back. All he could do was stare at the other wolf, mouth unmoving, as they tossed their words at him. But Anselm wasn’t always so down about not being able to speak. Actions spoke far louder than words, and for him touch was everything. You could learn so much more about a wolf if you just interacted with them, rather than exchange a conversation. Life was strange in teaching him that lesson.
Anselm would arrive to find many strangers there. Finding his brother he would slide up beside him, giving an apologetic nuzzle under his muzzle. His ears were lowered, along with his tail, as he looked up to Mithras with his bright purple gaze.
As the man gave his cry, giving official birth the the new pack Anselm would allow his tail to raise slightly. He’d thin approach Mithras, tail beginning to wag, and head dipping down respectfully. He could not give his verbal oath to the pack, but Anselm hoped that the astral man might understand his meaning in the bow. He was here to serve a greater purpose. He was here to be part of Argead.
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