is this a good time for a "bye, son" joke?

Víðarr longed for a distraction from his heavy heart. His departure was on the horizon, though he wouldn't be leaving quite yet. Not until the season's end. Daily life within the band needed to continue, and he was still an important part of it. Normal things. Keeping an eye on the pups, keeping an eye on camp. Teasing Cyanide for her garbage attitude. Making sure he was available for whoever wanted or needed to learn something new. Víðarr had taken himself off of scouting duties, opting to spend more time hands on, with family. Most importantly, he would still be hunting. So many little mouths to feed, and ravenous appetites they all had.

Tracking prey has long been one of the shadow's strong suits. There was something on the wind, this early afternoon. Víðarr comes just close enough to see his quarry as it comes into focus through the valley. A glint in his eye and excitement in his step, the shadow is so incredibly pleased when he lays eyes on it-- the buffalo herd. They must be migrating for the season, looking a bit tired. A bit worn. A bit like they'd make a damn good meal. With a springy sort of excitement in his step, Víðarr makes sure he's far enough away before he casts a call back to the band. It was time to hunt. They would eat well, extremely well, tonight.

"Víðarr"