Golden Age Gone By

He was, admittedly, getting tired of resting. And so, today found him making his way to the mouth of the ravine. He didn’t intend on going very far out, having already worked in a patrol, particularly after Paladin had relented and admitted that a walk would help keep him from getting stiff.

Regulus had plans to speak with Castiel, and he kept with them, settling at the edge of the woods and tipping his head back to call out across the plains for his Uncle. A soft sigh escaped as he let his muzzle drop. He had much to consider, regarding his uncle. Castiel was getting older. The crimson Archangel knew the raid had taken its toll on both body and mind for many, and his uncle had lost an eye to the female he himself had fought.

However proud he was of his pack for their swift response, he still hated to admit that he felt sickened that skills had been allowed to grow dusty enough that so many had been so badly hurt. Sickened both with himself, and with his pack. How many times had he said they needed to step up their training? And how many times had there been next to no results? And how many timed had he allowed it? Too many. And it had cost them dearly.

He hated it. And a great part of him felt as though he had failed them. And with his children on the way… A fresh sigh huffed free as he stared out at the plains, watching for his uncle’s large white frame.