Tórnach, freed from the den now that his máthair was well again and could give him permission to go out, had set off along the plains on his tall gangling adolescent legs with a purpose. He had been horrifically bored and restless, but unlike his sister he'd been given an ultimatum - do not leave the den without permission until he was a yearling. So, though his curiosity had been only whetted, not soothed, by his brief forays into the World Outside, he hadn't strayed more than a couple body lengths beyond the cave system that formed their den, just enough to stretch out in the sun and yearn for the plains beyond. Mamaí too ill, Regulus too ill, Dadaí all but missing lately. He hadn't even seen Zuriel or Báine half the time, so he didn't have anything to do but sit quietly and think. He'd nosed through Zuriel's herb stores a million times, memorizing scents and herbs though he didn't know what they were called or what they were used for. He'd explored the cave system extensively, learning very quickly to follow his scent back to the entrance even after getting terribly lost and crisscrossing his own trail several times.
Now with Mamaí and Regulus feeling better they were out of the den more, off hunting and yet still Tór was left at the den feeling very left out and mopey. But today... today Mamaí had given him permission to leave the den, and he had immediately struck out on his brother's trail. Regulus was out hunting, and Tór was determined to join him. But after some time of tracking the scent, and having it cross the scent he remembered from one of his illicit pup outings as 'deer', and then the iron scent of blood, he knew he was too late to hunt with his brother.
The leggy pup drooped despondently. He'd really hoped he could hunt with his brother this time, now that Regulus was better and he was older. He was already as big as Zuriel, though the oversized paws and ears spoke of a still growing pup so he was clearly not done yet. Coming up on Regulus at a trot, his blue eyes swept over the kill curiously. "Maidin mhaith, deartháir mór," he said politely, his voice still childishly high and soft. "Feicim tú go raibh fhiach maith." His tail wagged slowly, seriousness writ broadly over his gangly frame. "Tá brón orm go raibh mé ró-mhall chun cabhrú leat."
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