Look to the Future

Apollo had been largely uninvolved in the empire since his beloved littermate had disappeared. Oh, he'd been around, he'd been taking care of himself and keeping in shape. But he'd also been spending a great deal of time in a form of meditation near the falls outside of the territory, using the falling water to seek to... ascend his consciousness to a different plane, to lend his strength to his brother in his quest. For all his talk of how Amon had to face their father alone to prove himself, Apollo had always been so blindly caught up in his love for his brother that he couldn't take his own advice. And were they not, after all, the children of a god? There was nothing they could not do, if they sought outside of the mortal shells that trapped them.

But though he'd felt transcendence in the falling water, he had been given no sign or hint from their holy progenitor concerning his brother, nor had Amon returned to them. So when Amon's chosen heir called the pack together, Apollo closed his gold eyes against a wave of grief that would have shamed him to his core to allow any others to see. It seemed, perhaps, that Malleus was moving on, and Apollo could not blame him for it. If anything, he approved of the man's logic. They could not wait around any longer for Amon's return - the family was already scattered and falling away from the Abraxas ways. But it still stung, a bit, to hear the younger wolf calling rather than Amon.

Abandoning his vigil by the waterfall, Apollo loped back as fast as he could without seeming to hurry, his long strides eating up the ground as only a wolf could. It seemed that it had been quite fast enough, since only Malleus and a stranger - a stranger that bore his younger nephew's pack scent, as it happened - had gathered thus far. Apollo gave Malleus a curt nod of respect, as befitted the current leader of the Abraxas as a whole, but he did not seat himself. Rather, the phantom remained on his paws, restraining himself from uncharacteristic pacing by only the barest of margins. Something, something needed to change to bring the Abraxas back to their hallowed roots, but what he could not say. Perhaps the young Malleus would share some ideas, some plans, at this meeting he'd called - Fallen God knew Apollo was in no mood for another festival.