deartháir mo dheartháir

When the soft white figure padded into view and spoke, for a brief moment Tornach was entirely too startled to be called "uncail" to notice the faint strange quality to the yearling's voice. "Uncail? Who - " His blue eyes widened as he finally took in the irridesent nature of her "white" coat, the length of that strange mane and tail, the elongated fangs that had caused that faint strangeness to her speech. Which one of his siblings birth...? Ah, of course. Regulus. Which one of them already bore a strange mutation in the form of an unnatural color? Unless one of his sisters...?

Another wolf appeared, calling out cheerily to him. Another wolf who was as good as a stranger to him - it took Tor a long moment to remember the little balls of fluff that his younger siblings had been when he'd last seen them. But which one? "Laisren?" he guessed weakly.

And finally out of the mist came a familiar - albeit just as unusual looking as the day he'd been born - face. "Regulus," he returned the greeting with something akin to relief. "It's good to see everyone again. I've missed out on so much news - apparently more than I thought. I'm an uncle?" But, ever the healer and so used to keeping a sharp eye on his stock for just this thing, his brain suddenly registered what his eyes had seen as his brother walked up to them. "What happened to your leg?" He turned a concerned gaze to his brother. What had he missed? Why had no one told him so much had happened?