Though Quintus Nero had been scarce, he had not yet left Valhalla. And why would he? He had nowhere else to go, except wherever his parents were, and the thought of returning to them like a child was disconcerting. His dreams were filled with these constant doubts and insecurities -- not that he would ever admit them aloud. So often his sleep was restless and fitful, and before long morning had arrived once again.
A call lifted him from his light sleep. Slowly and feeling rather groggy, the boy pulled himself onto all fours, stretching sleep from his limbs and letting his jaws part in a wide yawn. He wasn't entirely sure what the call was for, but he knew he would be best to answer it regardless. Erani had likely noticed his absence -- and although he had a damn good excuse, he was still not willing to see her get pissed off at him. That would not be a pretty sight.
The fog was thick this morning, heavy with dew and rain, and he found himself grumbling slightly at the chill that seeped into his pelt as he made his way from his den and toward the gathering. It wasn't the nicest weather, that was certain. He'd been born in the summer, and he preferred the warm air and sunshine upon his back.
It took a considerable amount of time for him to navigate the land safely, as it was cloaked in a heavy mist, but before long he found himself near the others, and quietly he came to rest on his hindquarters, sea-green eyes dancing across the wolves that had already arrived.
