Things were, well, miserable to say the least. Their home was soggy, there had been Hell on earth when the last storm hit... Anselm would lay upon the soggy ground beneath a willow tree with his ears pinned flat against his skull. He didn’t like this. The Gods seemed to be angry with the wolves of Argead and he didn’t know why. He just knew that they were suffering... Was it because Mithras had formed the pack at all? Anselm had some doubts.
But Domino didn’t show any signs of wavering loyalty and, unable to express his deep concerns, Anselm would stay put as well. He worried deeply for the safety of Argead’s members... And hoped that this rocky time would pass. Tail would flick, curling around his nose as he let out a soft, barely audible sigh. He missed the dry days and nights... Sleeping when it was warm instead of cold and wet. Purple eyes would close, shutting out the night around him. His ears would remain perked, however, waiting for his brother’s return.