A Call to Arms [Abraxas War Meeting]

Apollo had yet to wander as far as many of his siblings. Though logically he would need to learn the lay of the land, he simply did not have the wanderlust of many of his siblings and had spent more of his time reaquainting himself with his family than he had exploring. So when Amon had set off with a purpose he had been there to see, and to follow as he moved northward. The phantom had not yet come to these lands when Amon had first called the family to this spot, so he did not recognize either the land or the meaningfulness of the location, but as he joined Amon and Pyralis and his nephews, he could tell that they were each electrified with an expectant energy. Apollo, cold as he was to his core, was not so struck by that mania though he recognized it's source and found himself unconsciously raising his muzzle as though tracking a scent on the breeze. Yes, it was time, wasn't it? Time to prove out the legacy of a fallen God. The march to war, to claw their way back to godhood.

Eyes like polished gold nestled in gray silk rested on his litter mate, the leader he had given every ounce of his fanatical loyalty to, who he had left their mad father to follow. The appearance he projected was as calm and militarily correct as he always was, his bearing straight and distant as he seated himself among them. Pelt falling perfectly, tail and ears and paws just so. But the way his full attention was fixed so obsessively, so intently upon his brother betrayed to those who knew him that cool as he was he was not unaffected by the excitement that sang through them like a live wire. The Abraxas were gathering.

ooc: bawwww sorry for the shit reply.