Oh, the devil take it, they're mongrels. No spots! No spots at all!

After ignoring the oomf from his daughter, Ultyr sat regally with his back straight and his tail flared out behind him. He watched with curiosity while Lys trodded up the shoreline, obviously on the hunt for something.

His ear flicked in the direction of his obstinate daughter, her words falling on deaf ears. His son seemed to have come across something. Ultyr tilted his head with a mix of pride and disappointment. Pride he followed orders, disappointed that he didn't exactly get what was requested. A good meal and a good pelt at the very least.

"Points to Lysanias for trying. But that is not a frog. That is a beaver. Try again." He said gruffly before his son could drag the twenty pound corpse over the mud. He turned his face to his regal daughter, finally acknowledging her. His silent gaze was ablaze and hardened with expectation. He had told her the name of the game already. Lysanius already had points.

Lysanius had the makings of a fine soldier.