Look Ma New Scars

Artur lifted his head from his hunt as a voice called from the border of Valhalla. It was a voice he had been listening for for a very long time, but at first his only reaction was the very faintest sigh of relief. He, after all, had been the one to put the idea into Geoffrey's head to go to Abaven for training. He had been the reason he was over there when the volcano had erupted, and when his younger brother had suddenly vanished, well. That was on Artur. Yes, Geoffrey had made his own decisions, but Artur had led him there, and had failed to protect him. So hearing Geoffrey's voice, so adult now in its timbre that it was almost startling, lifted a troubling burden from his shoulders. His brother wasn't dead. Good.

He came up from behind Geoffrey - because he hadn't been in Valhalla's territory - just in time to see Viviane careen off the wall. She was lucky she hadn't broken her silly neck. He gave a disapproving shake of his head and another sigh, and came up to where he could see them as she tackled Geoffrey.

He was startled by how different his baby brother looked.

It wasn't just the voice, or the scent of his maturity, or the way he held himself differently in the seconds before Viviane's assault. Scars creased the fur in his legs, and mangled his ear and face, clearly the work of fangs, and not from the volcano. Fury roared to life in him instantly at the unsubtle signs that someone had tried to take Geoffrey's life, his brother's life. Rather than speak through a throat clutched with rage, he stood back to watch his siblings silently from a distance.