Giant Paw-Prints to Fill

He was definitely feeling better, and more than a little peeved that he’d missed his first meeting with the pack. He was more than a little frustrated and couldn’t help but feel like Artur was throwing him little looks ‘I’m stronger, so I’m better than you’.

Of course, that could just be his own frustrations speaking. Artur was his brother, even if his way of thinking could be downright… nasty. Cairo was stubbornly of the mind that just because your blood might not be Adravendi blood, you were still just as good as the next wolf. For him, something had resonated in the stories about his forefather, even the parts his mother had seemed disapproving of.

He stood within the stone Circle, lowered into his best defensive stance, tail flicked out behind him—although it was held stiff as a stick instead of the willowy, flowing tool of balance it ought to be. Puppy steps. He was envisioning a big, snarling black wolf in front of him— and for a moment, his imagination was good enough to make his heart patter, before his imaginary opponent lunged and he sidestepped, stumbling as his ill-balancing tail stiffly flicked to the side – the wrong one – and sent him off balance before his claws sank into the ground and righted him.

A soft growl purred out his throat, a far cry from the rumble it’d be someday. He’d have to work on this tail thing.