FROM THE ASHES, WE RISE [The Empire]

Seth had trailed dutifully if irritably behind his pale uncle as he'd gone first to the battlefield, only to turn around and immediately return to the lands they'd just left without him even having seen anything. By that time he was lagging further and further behind his much taller relatives until they'd long since gone out of his line of sight, and he was limping as he forced his aching, twisted body to keep hopping along with his herbs, muttering a constant stream of expletives under his breath. What he wouldn't give for just a bit of fermented fruit right now to take the edge off. He would gleefully do murder for it at that moment.

He raised his stunted muzzle though as his uncle's call rang out to call the pack together. Well, no rest for the wicked, then. He'd be needing to attend, if only to show support for his uncle's easily-won victory but possibly also to tend to any wounded after. He trudged on, and finally came into sight of the gathering group.

He wanted to flop down right then and there, but dared not to show the weakness. So few of the Abraxas showed any signs of blood by sight or smell that he knew most had been denied the battle they craved altogether and like throwing chum to sharks, they would be all too likely to turn and take it out on the slightest provocation. So instead he just sat gingerly and eyed his younger cousin Ashiel, who seemed to show some wounds from battle. Good, he'd proven himself then. He'd need to in order to survive in this family, that was for certain. Seth wouldn't embarrass the boy by fussing over his wounds in front of everyone else (that would be far more dangerous than flopping on the ground, for certain) but he would keep an eye out for him until he could treat him. Seth, after all, was only alive on sufferance and would need to earn that keep.